truth

the truth is i'm blissed out and suddenly lost in my own world of happiness. all of those small niggling thoughts no longer matter, the angst once held so tightly has been let free and just as suddenly my muse has left me to my own devices so that one second i'm lost within my memories and the next i think, hey, look at the pretty little flower print, isn't it just so darling? and finally my muse pokes her head around the corner and says, um, excuse me, did you just say that that flower is darling? you mean the same one that you bitched about for three days last year? yes, i say, well, it's not the same one, see? this one looks more like a dandelion, or a daisy, and that first one was much closer to fleabane, or devil's paintbrush, see? my muse looks at me, giving me that blank stare that silently screams, are you serious? she continues to stare at me and i falter a bit, look down at my bare feet as they wriggle in the early morning dew of the grass, the drops of dew glinting in the early morning light, giving each blade it's own gilded edge. when i look up my muse is still staring at me and i take in a short breath and breathe out, what? and then she takes in a very long and very deep breath and on the end of her sigh says, don't you at least see them covered in blood?