Mind Acrobatics

How does one describe the act of writing?

Its very true, you know, that writing is easy, you simply stare at a blank piece of paper 'till drops of blood form on your forehead.

My muse comes, a familiar lover, whispering seductive sentences, his featherlight touch tantilizing, his experieinced hand reaching into the depths of my mind inspiring me to creative streams of consciousness. Enticing words to pour forth from deep inside, where his secrets spill into me.

Sometimes, I call on my muse. Needing his whispered seductions, his featherlight caress kindling my literary flames, his touch deep inside.

And sometimes he arrives, unannounced, exploding forth, demanding entrance. Possessing me, claiming my consciousness like a deep soul kiss. My muse a hot ember, entering me, seting my mind on fire with wrods and poetry his secrets spilling into me planting seeds of ideas, coaxing my literary flames higher so that I rush to find instuments of release.

And so, the paper yields willingly to the pen. Sliding smooothly across and down the smooth untouched paper. Glistening in its pure whiteness. Its crisp purity.

Gliding, as insistent, the words thrust against my consciousness, demanding to be released. My soul yearning for completeness.

And soon, I sigh, feeling released, complete, in the throbbing pulsing aftermath still echos in mind and slowly ebbs away.

I wipe drops of blood from my forehead and head off to take a shower.