gray morning

it's a gray morning and the office is quiet. i have no idea what my workload looks like because I am too busy staring out the window watching the sky. my muse is pitching a fit, cursing me out, trying to get a rise out of me. we are not on speaking terms at the moment despite her complaints. her expectations are unrelenting and the needle on my motivation is on empty. why, you ask. ideas float around the ether above my head, swirling around, tempting me, taunting me but when it's time to pin the words down on paper i find them slipping away like mercury. it's like waking up from a vivid dream, as soon as you start thinking about the details, the story escapes out the open window, never to be heard from again. my muse cries and cries wanting attention and all i do is drink wine and smoke the evening away. she threatens to leave and i shrug my shoulders and tell her, "so leave." she undresses instead and stays the night. i am neglectful, she will leave eventually and the story will wither on the vine. it's only a matter of time.




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