It's Springtime and tornado alley is moving quickly into the full bloom of it's seasonal awakening. The warm breezes lick the flesh and fragrant blooms drape the bosom of the virgining harvests.
Commissions are slow coming in of late. My never slumbering muse which is within my own mind has fallen hopelessly into a coma. I wish I knew how to wake her. I feel her stirring inside me. She's clawing and screaming to be let out. The ebb and flow of daily dronings are killing the spirit at her heart. A trillion unjust and undeserved attacks on her optimism have rendered her silent. She feeds on pride, thrives on accomplishments and desires the freedom of youth. Stifled by life, and choking on my devices, I'm afraid I may be killing her. I'll miss her if my assassination becomes complete. I need her rage, yearn for her energy and fear the day she breaks free.
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