Demise of Creativity

It is my master; it eats me and knaws at my sanity
It is my servant; it serves me if I want it to fuel me
It is my muse; it gives me something to write about
It is my passion; it makes me feel wise and alive

I know I exist because I know it died
I know it died because I knew it when it was alive
I knew it when it was alive because I held it close
And because I held it so close, it died when I let it go…