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.