Muse Of My Heart

I am two fold... I have a monster in me at all times, for when one is not present the other becomes the monster inside. I am malcontent. Conflicting. I crave reciprocation. When it is not received or not returned by someone... They become my PREY. Only then may I let loose a monster so vile,  so lustful, so desiring of reciprocation. Then tat monster becomes me  and inside another monster forms, Uncurls from being me, to being the monster, once me, now a monster, once let loose, me again. I dare you to continue  DENYING ME!

As I never have before. I usually am not this...off. But for some reason I got a strange want and need. Take away my need!!

Love is simple Love is mine Love is right You'll be blind Just love and let love be. That is love and what love should be. I love you. That is easy enough for me.

me? Sounds have colors to me.  They always have. moods, minds, wants, needs. Green has the highest need for me. It is a raucous yell and a releasing scream of a stressed child. It needs attention. It curls and writhes all over my pages. The very lines in this journal move and live every day. It is the color that is only  born in the true beings of the earth. It covers stones and our own ruins with moss and has itself in the highest living beings. It cannot be content to be solitary or silent. It is the color of life. I am content to be green.

Arm in arm we stroll past an old woman playing with her granddaughter. I soak it all up knowing this is most likely my last day here. I am moving away forever. Well not forever, but things aren't going to be the same, this place isn't going to be the same place if I do come back. My god brother turns to me and laughs at some joke we have for just us together. I know I wont see him for a year at the very least. I try not to think of that and question why I am leaving. Again.

At the edge of my vision black spirals creep into my eyes. I feel like I am drowning in ink. My limbs feel tingly and float. My body forces me to find a place to sit and focus on the ground. My stomach heaves. I clutch the shoulder of someone and then everything goes black. I wake up in a sitting position and for a moment all I see is red dots and concerned faces. I ask for some food and then I stop one woman from calling 911. 'I am not pregnant.' I correct her as she details shrilly to the emergency response voice. That one was the worst of them all ever.

Dusty, but clean, like the smell of time. It reminds me of old trees or old tree forts. It smells like my grandpa's leather couch. It smells like money that had passed many hands. And you can only smell it in the first moment it is released from the truly ancient beings. You slowly pull its tattered self off of the wood stacks and dust flutters in a ray of sun light that just passed in through the window. You look at the spine and glance at the words, then slowly open the front cover and feel the spine wrinkle in your fingers as you slide it into one palm. Then you flip through the pages. They fan out in a monotype and whispers and cracks as if daring you to look. That is the moment the smell floats past and it fills you with a promise from another world.

The warm south wind blows away the chill from the tiny girl's nose and fingers. She is trying to find some flowers for the tables. She is picking poppies and daisies one by one. The stems pop like their name when they are picked. Then she hears a really loud pop. it echos all the way to the mountains. Brother must have been throwing rocks again. She makes a popping song by smacking her lips while she skips back home. The house is lit by the sun and the bricks are warm as she runs her fingers over the dried red clay.  The front door is ajar. She wants to surprise her mommy. She isn't in the kitchen so she jumps up on the counter to get out a cup for her flowers to be in clear water. She knocks off a jar and it crashes to the ground. Bang, bang, bang. She is so relieved it didn't break.  She fills the cup with water, still sitting on the counter. She looks out the window above the sink. Her mommy is digging int he garden with a big shovel. She is planting flowers for spring,

She gasps for infinity, always raking in air. She holds her fist to her breast in horror. Her eyes pierce into her assailant, but only out of fear. Her skirt swiftly frozen in an erratic pattern. She is a picture of terror as her curls fly around her head in disarray. Her dress is frilly in fourteenth century glamor and low cut for full cleavage.  She has ribbons in her hair frozen in swift fluttering in the same golden color as the trimming on her dress. She is in a room of exotic furnishings and molten light fixtures, Egyptian benches held by a sphinx, asian silk pillows, elaborate curtains hanging over vast windows viewing a garden and a labyrinth. Paintings and sculptures litter the room. even a fireplace is lit behind a grate of twisted iron. It casts an odd shadow on the young woman's face. Her other hand is holding an envelope knife; she holds is out and you can almost see it trembling. In the foreground a man is opening the door. He looks relaxed, like the Devil.

 is the moment after I have put my paintbrush down and the paint is finally allowed to dry. Glory is the seconds before I tear the tape off my canvas and roll it up to rest my closet. Imagine that, glory is a time period.

call me for another reason.

The road and the bridge began to become blurry. The clouds started to spiral into a mass of grey and bright white. It was as harsh to look at as it was to look away. I wanted a distraction, but this was beyond distracting. I was seeing paths in the forest I had never seen before. Some how everything was swirling away from me. The only thing left in my vision was a path. The ground was saturated as if the earth were volcanic. The trees draped down and then shot up to the heavens. I didn't see and end. Truth be told I didn't see where it began, or where I began. Then I was the one spinning around... I woke up on the path, so my 'just-a-dream' theory was shot to hell. So I started walking. And walking, then I start running. My mind was wandering too much. I was gonna cry again if I let myself think, so I ran. I have never missed someone so much. I saw a small pool ahead of me. It is always at the end of that path. The pool is filled with a placid black liquid. It looks

This being the second time I mentioned the birthing of children in conversation, my father asks me what exactly brought on this motherly feeling. If it was anyone else asking I would have raised my voice like a sword in defense. I allow it to slide away without asking him for his advice. Slicing into my steaming chimichanga, I wonder if I would ever crave Mexican food if there were to be a being in my belly. Probably not. We continue to talk about different systems and how much we both hate craft stores as we walk back to the cafe. I wish I could run to the park and swing until the sun goes down, but I have too much in my backpack to run. I am always afraid the things I have brought to do, when I get there, I wont want to do. And so, I bring everything I would ever want to do. Which also means I must carry it home with me.

...No body said it would be this hard. lets take it back to the staaarrrt.. I most dreadfully hate when songs are stuck in my head. But always better than voices I assume. Besides the monkeys.

Finding the north star. The very first sentence of a story is always the most awkward. I would begin with describing the time or the place in which this story begins. Or I could jump right into dialogue and explain later. Or  I could describe the main character. Well unfortunately for you, I know not what time or place and there was no dialogue that could explain what is currently happening. However, there is not protagonist nor antagonist, so if you wanted a simple conflict you must close this book before you get too far. The main character is a group of 'persons'. I suppose their names are in order. Sheesha Bolomini Carctorash Academina, daughter of Carcie Academina, Lord of Academina's most Noble and Voluminous Library, is a person with whom I am most closely aquatinted with. Though her friends, Beelietanihelinio Hotivu Tigressne (daughter of the lady of Tigressne), Fleuya Forsseeeth â Nauturania ( sister of Lady Nauturania), and Donimina Contessa Medici (daughter and