Killing The Muse - Poem

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A poem about the moment inspiration goes quiet. In “Killing The Muse,” Greg Luti follows a writer through creative exhaustion, confusion, and a tense confrontation with the source of his ideas.

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I sat at my desk alone in my room, wishing to forge another story out of thin air.

But this time, I was done with the emotional toll the words had taken on my mind.

I was at my limits with the words….

I don’t know how many more I have in me.

For a moment, one I don’t recognize, I can’t create an idea.

I was not frustrated by it at all, but more confused.

Idea creation is one of my specialties’

I never had this problem before.

I tried to recall a few possible ideas I had in the past week that I never got to, but nothing came.

Even the old ideas are gone from my mind.

Did I clean out my brain at one point during the week?

When did my mind get a reset?

Is the lack of sleep really getting to me?

What the hell is going on here?

Then the muse, a being not of this world, but of the unseen, showed up in my room.

The creature stood by the opposite wall, in front of my framed Beatles photo.

The distance was far enough that I had to turn to see its grotesque appearance, something I was not doing immediately.

The creature was not of this world, but of what world it was, I could not say.

Whatever was standing there certainly knew of the basic dimensions of creatures like me.

Whether this creature modeled itself after something of our world or naturally appeared this way is something I don’t know.

“Hello… I can help you.” It said in a confident, almost disturbing voice.

“Yeah… you are not the only person to say that.”

I paid the creature no mind.

“With your words, I can give you ideas to make them better, make them whole.

Why create your own when I can simply give you one?

All that sweat, all that work, and for what?”

“Shut the hell up. I don’t have time for your games.”

“Are they games when your mind is empty?

Are they games when the thoughts run out?

Are they games when the time you devote to this craft doesn’t give you the results you so desire?

Even a man like yourself has only so many ideas….

Why not allow me to give a helping hand?”

I put my hand down, not viewing the being, who was neither man nor woman.

“Do you think I am stupid?

Do I seem to be a fool to you?

When you started this trip to meet me, did you put down that you wished to see a moron?

Is that what you view me as?

Nothing more than a pig with a brain.

A jester in a show, or an imbecile with a microphone.

I am not to be taken for a fool, even by you.

Tired, I am, but stupid, I am not.”

“Oh, I would never think of such a thing.

The carrier of the idea is never a fool, for they are smart enough to accept it, which I am sure you are.”

The most humane part of this creature was the way in which it formed words.

I finally turned to look at the creature, a move I regretted instantly.

“Got you, really are an ugly bastard.”

“I whisper to those that wish to hear me.”

“Uh-huh… That is what you call it.”

“What I call it doesn’t matter as much as what it can do for you.”

“Look, I know your game.

I know the lies you are even saying now.

Ideas don’t come from you.

You are full of it.

They come from the spirit of the mind.

Whatever ideas or thoughts a person has go into the unseen world and then stay there.

You are not a part of that world.

You meddle in it, and then decide when you want something from a desperate son of bitch, you take a few ideas, combine them, and give them to the person.

Don’t act like you are a part of that world.

You are not.

I can’t see it, but I sure as hell know you are not in it either.”

“You sadden me with your response.

You don’t consider all the good I can give you.”

The creature got closer to me.

“Let me help you.

Let me help you in a way you cannot help yourself.”

“Stay back! I am warning you!”

The creature continued to get closer.

“I am not kidding. I will do it!”

“Do what? What I want you to do?”

“I will do it!”

The creature took one step closer, and then I reached for the gun on my desk.

I unloaded the cartridges, and the creature disappeared into the air, as though it had not been a physical body all along.

I heard a whisper.

“I am glad you accepted my offer.”

My roommate, who was in the other room, came running in as the Doritos he was eating fell all over the floor.

“Jesus Christ! What the hell happened! I heard shots go off! Are you alright? What the hell happened!”

I noticed the creature was gone, and all that remained were the bullet holes in the wall.

“Yeah… yeah… I am fine. I thought someone was about to enter the house.”

I went to sit back down by my desk, and put the gun in my drawer, wiping my forehead of the sweat that gathered.

He rolled his eyes at me, the same way he notices I don’t do my laundry.

“And you didn’t think about calling for help?

You decided to shoot up the room like you are John Wick!

You gotta think, man! You really could have hurt yourself.”

He wiped the Doritos from his shirt and face and shook his head at me.

“Yeah, yeah. I know…”

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