Description: i haven't been writing anything on a long time and then i started to think about it, i really need something weird/sad/sick to happen so i could write anything, therefore: make me my tragedy!
give me my muse
a fever to tickle my toes
a cigarette to burn my eyes
and make me see the symphony
give me my heavenly horror
screaming neurotic words in my ears
that mean pleasure
when the window is closed
and the panic
nothing but grows
give me my wounded angel
to whisper the words of comfort
in my ear
so I can scream the inspiration
in to the air
catch her, she's a light! follow that light, wherever she may be... 'heavenly horror'... that is an unspeakably good line. your muse serves you well and often, my dear. your words twist and turn like the ocean... it's sickeningly beautiful. i admire you. night night, glitter-faerie... ~Syn
Ahh, to chase that enigmatic Muse! I like the way you have formatted this piece... it gives it a feathery sort of substance, a whimsical searching feel. And the last line was perfect... original and pleasing to read out... a fitting end, I would say.
You have quite a lot of internal assonance going on here... not quite rhymes but the same sounds... which is what assonance means - duh me lol.
I'm glad to have stumbled upon your work taateli - it is a breath of fresh air. Now if only you could find that Muse again and open yourself up to inspiration! Even writing about the lack of inspiration is inspiration in itself. At least I think so. And it is something that I have written about to get myself out of the writing doldrums.
Keep your chin up... there's always lots to write about. How about trying something outside of your body, outside of the tried and true 'I and You' formula? Hmm, that sounded so condescending but it wasn't meant to be construed like that.
I hope you get what I mean. Best of luck and hope to see you posting soon.
ive got a small cure for u, its very small, the cures not small really it's more of a little incentive, it goes like this, we-e-ell well it's the big show, well it's the big bad show tonight, this is when you say you can no longer hear,
give me my muse a fever to tickle my toes a cigarette to burn my eyes and make me see the symphony in whole give me my heavenly horror screaming neurotic words in my ears that mean pleasure when the window is closed and the panic nothing but grows give me my wounded angel to whisper the words of comfort in my ear so I can scream the inspiration in to the air
make me my tragedy
This sounds like the mantra of the tortured genius/artist begging his/her muse for another hit of misery to write sublime tragedies for the consumer because that's about all the writer knows. Suffering with writing, suffering without it; who could ask for anything more? Was this the approximate time the site began to disappoint you and sap your enjoyment? Just curious.
A bit different than your earlier work. Take care of yourself. Bill.