Friday, 19 January 2018

Play On, Euterpe

How do you draw on something so empty? The well is dry where you used to have plenty. Now you try to catch up but you're falling behind, the pressure gnaws on you and it's anxious poison seizes your mind. You've got nothing left, no fuel for the fire, no hardship or toil over which to perspire. You rake over the coals of your past miseries, concerned that you've plundered your last memories. You no longer get any sudden fits of inspiration, just a blank mind with increasingly laboured respiration.

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