Dark Sadistic Muse:

Dark Sadistic Muse:

I seat myself before the computer,
With fingers poised over fading keys.
Eagerly awaiting my latest epic;
Yet frozen by a lack of inspiration.

Here I sit, staring at the blank document.
The dark background mirroring the world behind me.
I swallow hard as my body locks;
Hairs tense as I sense her arrival...

Slender fingers soon wrap themselves around my throat.
With claw-like nails digging in painfully,
They prick the skin that lies just beneath my Adam’s apple;
Leaving me nursing a rather painful necklace.

"Your hands aren't moving," she coos softly,
Her clawed fingers gently stroking my chin.
"Why is that, I wonder?" she asks with a grin.
Her expression reveals a pair of pointed canines,
Both framed by lips as seductive as sin.

"I'm sorry my lady", I whisper in reply.
The excuse tumbles slowly from a paralyzed tongue.
"I have had no inspiration you see;
No dreams with which I am able to write."

She laughs at this; cruel and cold,
Tossing me from her grasp with eyes of disdain.
She paces the room slowly, with a silent snarl,
Reminiscent of predator, stalking her prey...

"I think you forget, my dearest man,
That you and I have a rather hefty bargain."

I swallow as she speaks, my lips cracking
They turn dry as I mutter excuses and apologies;

"Of course I remember", I reply with a quaver;
Drawing on the tiny wellspring of courage within me.
I spit with a hint of defiance, "would I even be allowed to forget?"

With sudden violence, she hurls me to the ground.
Making stars explode before me, as I am pinned with a stiletto.

She looks down upon me and smiles -
Merciless even in her expression.
"What you have written thus far, 'poet',
Is but a gaunt pittance of what you originally owe me!

Forget not your benefactor and ensure that your hands keep moving.
Or else..." She leans in close; letting me taste her fragrance.
"Else I shall have to be chopping these off now."

And with that she was gone. Vanished from this world,
Leaving me cold and drenched in a pool of sweat.
I was panting for air; gasping as though asphyxiated.
Comfortably alone in this room of mine:

Yet still, frantically typing...

So tell me my friends, if of course you find yourself capable -
What does your muse tend to say about you?




-Chen Yuan Wen, 21st March 2012