Rid the Muse

The muse is gone!

Sounds of laughter no longer echo against my once fresh liquid filled and ruddy chambers that fueled my fibrous being with desire. There is no need for quick intake of breath before explosions of exaltation that had burst out of the same lungs meant to speak low and lusty words into your piqued and searching ears; blissful melodies have been quieted by your absence. Presently, shuddering inhalations prime the bellows before pitiful wailings cry out from my depths. Each howl, masterfully created by excruciating sunder, is released from the newly blackened chambers dutifully carrying the mark of one unloved.

It stabs and then twists that erasable pain, an invisible blade buried in my burdened soul, my heartless center. Not only does it present as a pain, a horrible piercing that enters though the skin and then runs through until thrusting into my core where it takes endless and ruthless shelter, but it is also a ceaseless and dull aching thud sounding with each weary step, and each ragged breath, that I force myself to take.

Vanished is the sweet tête-à-tête. We had sat with muted voices hidden from the sweltering jealousy of onlookers as honey laced words oozed between our lips and dripped into each others exotic recesses of love, further exciting our inexhaustible longing while we impatiently waited to unfold these delicious secrets in each others arms. It was a time for musical sounds of our coupling to ring out freely, floating notes of love wafting on the same currents that held us entwined, but now only shrill silence persists.

Desire for all things has been shed like the scales of a snake, slowly and sorely scratched away as I watched you slither on, slippery sliding towards your next temptation. I am left holding dead fruit in my hand while standing upon earth striped of the once fecund existence that we had shared on a sumptuous and lush landscape of joined love. I can only consume the distasteful apple of discord for I am awash in the shame of blind trust and discarded love.

Where there was a lustfully agitated entity that lived and breathed, stoked from an internal heat between the two of us, born out of an initial spark that had grown into a tempest of furious flames demanding to be fed; now there only exists a residue, a dark smudge of ruinous memories. Wispy flakes of charcoal ash afloat on a thick somber shroud of air blacken my distraught soul from one day to the next. The soot neatly forms a heap of carbon slowly compressed by sorrow into a hardened heart of coal. Eventually, after what will be an eternity of pain and regret, I will rid the muse from my soul.

C.S. Mack Author