writer's block -- Unicorn

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Date Posted: 14:56:56 09/22/02 Sun
Author: misfit
Author Host/IP: AC939FD4.ipt.aol.com / 172.147.159.212
Subject: writer's block

WRITER'S BLOCK

Lonely he sits
Frustration is draining him
A poet at birth
A poem written everyday
A poet like no other
Then it happened
Writer's block

Been six months
Still no thoughts
No visions
No inspirations
The longest six months of his life
On his knees everyday
Pleading
Asking
Begging
Praying
Making deals with God

Ever the tortured artist
His wants turn into need
Need into frustration
Frustration into fear
Fear into anger
Anger into hate
Creativity has abandoned him
His muse has taken leave
God has turned his back

Hatred festers inside him
In a fit of rage
He rips up his finished works
Pushes his computer off his desk
Stomps on his printer
Kicking
Screaming
Cursing
Then the violence turns to tears

Overcome by a gambit of emotions
All flowing through him
Like cars on a freeway
He walks to the garage
Finds what he is looking for
Standing there
Shivering
Mumbling
Sobbing
Cold steel in his hand

He will show God
He will take control
He will murder his muse
Death for abandonment seems fair
A crime
Punishable by death
He is in control now
His muse must die
He will make God watch

He presses the sharp serrations of the hacksaw
Against his wrist
The union of flesh and metal
Numb from frustration
The teeth of the saw penetrate
Separating the flesh as if it were Moses
A sea of red darkens the workbench
The echoing of the blood
As it splatters on the floor
Through layers of skin
The saw cuts with ease

He has hit bone
The point of no return
Numb from hate
He continues
The grinding of metal against bone
The horrific sound it makes
The screams of his muse being slaughtered
A clean cut through the bone is complete
Just the flesh on the underside is left
The walls and floor are stained
A crimson hue darkens the room
The smell of hatred dissipates
His muse is dead

His senses emerge from their hiatus
A severed hand upon the bench
The saw, warm from its completed task
Scarlet resin covers the floor
Like a Persian rug
He retrieves the hand
Holds it up high
So God can bear witness
Look what you have done to me!
Look what you made me do!
Tears of anger stream down his cheeks
Anger turns into remorse
What have I done?
Uttered repeatedly
For what seems like a lifetime

Epiphany
The lightning bolt
The bulb atop his head
It's there
Its back
His muse has been resurrected
She whispers in his ears
The greatest story he has ever heard
The mother of all poems
His masterpiece
His opus

Then a shiver runs up his spine
The cold echo of laughter
His muse
Laughing at him

Misfit poem
9/17/02

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Replies:

Re: writer's block -- Dr.P, 13:05:04 09/23/02 Mon