My body has failed me again.
My mind pushes, Yes I can, Yes I can, only to fail over and over.
Rowan red of pain mixed with the bone ash taste of exhaustion.
I am too willing to fall into the pile of blankets and give in to the pull of darkness. Where is my night owl strength, the pull to work and work till the hands and eyes ache and I tumble to sleep so deep I forget the body, the bed, the need, till I wake and do it again?
I have lost my fire, my muse.
My body has betrayed me.
I look at old pictures and cannot see my current self in them.
How did I lose the line, the drive that pulled me through the days and nights like a horse in lather?
Where are the ink-stained hands and ideas bubbling like a voice murmuring in the back of my mind?