Muse.

First, it's the headache that never goes away

Then, it's the ache that's in my bones

Later, it becomes the obsession that chases my thoughts away

Soonafter, it's the sweat I wipe off my brow...

And just like that, there's a pen in my hand and ink has spilled on the paper. 

                  A combination of letters that form words that form sentences that--well, you get the idea

I can't say that I'm a genius at this because if that were true, maybe I didn't have to work that hard.

But I like to work hard because if my pen bleeds then that means that emotion was felt...

Tears were shed--of joy, of sorrow, of pain

Happiness was felt

Love was in the air. And then it evaporated like ice on a hot day in Texas.

The sky was a majestic purple during a sunset one day. 

                 Whatever it is, whatever it was, I felt it and I wanted, no, I needed to express it.

It comes and goes, this gift of mine, but it does what it wants and who am I to deny the inspiration that has the ability to consume from within