sandalwood lingers in the stale air
“come on down” echoes through the sleep
as sweet morning nectar is devoured.
Freshly cut grass stains the senses
while a prized bhang seed is sealed
within the earth.
Pages of a novel first are torched
screaming internal critics
thrash and torture
as the flames grow with failure.
Sunlight seeps through the shades
whilst tears tare down the skyline of emotions
built in the walls of those pages now ashes.
Cursed to dictate the universes in the mind
the hand obeys and puts the sword to use
slashing out the secret pains locked away
with nothing but grace and beauty.
Effecting the flesh accordingly
the muse drains the essence.
Daily life guided
by the creativity