It's 3 am and the gremlins are back again
Whispering in my ear without voices
tapping at my skull wit fingers they do not have.
Silently they complain and chide me, insistent and loud, yet incessantly soundless.
In my mind their wordless cry echoes and reverberates always the same.
They scream for ink and letters like wrathful Aztec gods craving fresh heartsblood
I hear some writers have a muse,
An elegant, gentle guide to lead them through the creative process.
I have my gremlins.
Small and clever, my gremlins are ever restless.
Forever they claw and pull at me.
Impatient, impetuous, never still.
They cry out to me, their demands the same as ever.
In one voice, and that one which makes no sound.
With their single silent scream they all shout...
WRITE THIS DOWN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 8:04 PM UTC
It's 3 am and the gremlins are back again
Whispering in my ear without voices
tapping at my skull wit fingers they do not have.
Silently they complain and chide me, insistent and loud, yet incessantly soundless.
In my mind their wordless cry echoes and reverberates always the same.
They scream for ink and letters like wrathful Aztec gods craving fresh heartsblood
I hear some writers have a muse,
An elegant, gentle guide to lead them through the creative process.
I have my gremlins.
Small and clever, my gremlins are ever restless.
Forever they claw and pull at me.
Impatient, impetuous, never still.
They cry out to me, their demands the same as ever.
In one voice, and that one which makes no sound.
With their single silent scream they all shout...
WRITE THIS DOWN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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