Sometimes writing is hard you know? Sometimes you just have to start putting letters to pen.
Sometimes you have realised that Monsters, Beasties and Devil are real and are all cute boys and girls.
Turns out The Muse is real. Right now, she appears to be off partying. Teasing some fuck bois who couldn't handle her anyways. Laughing at them for their lack of chances. But probably drinking a few more and deciding maybe they are not terrible ideas.
Possibly later on in the evening passed out somewhere with her party outfit half on, no sex having happened as the guy was also too drunk. A bottle of a drink in her hand--but her not being the one who drank it. Her make up destroyed and running. Sleeping sitting up on a couch covered in pizza boxes, used chinese take out containers and cockroaches.
Waking up before the man she is sleeping ats apartment wakes up--and sneaking out. For the walk of shame home.
It is often said that sex, adventure and partying are good for the muse. Nobody ever questions if perhaps the muse has chosen this dangerous life style to hide various pains issues and problems the muse does not seem interested in actually acknowledging or dealing with.
Nobody ever wants to front the bill for a therapist for the muse.
Also... nobody really wants to be a therapist for a muse. Seriously... that would require deciphering the various vast mental mindscape that allows the muse to come up with this stuff. That would mean comprehending where the muse comes up with all its crazy cockamany ideas.
The muse forever continues her existence. Trying to find meaning and purpose in a vast empty universe. Trying to ignore what her mind comes up with. Ignore her existential quandaries and moralistic mental wonderings by partying and dancing the night away. Just don't think about it too hard, the muse reminds herself. Thinking about it too hard has never gotten you anywhere.
Some nights the night club is empty. The muse goes back to her one room suite in the crappy area of town alone. The bathrooms are always broken at the end of the hall. There are rigs and drug paraphenalia all over. The walls have holes in them. There is dirt everywhere. A couple people are passed out in the hallway from drug use.
She goes to her room, and lays in her bed on her back. Staring at her ceiling. Illuminated in the light that her room lets in. As she cannot afford curtains to block it all out. Just staring. Thinking about everything she has done wrong. Rethinking other scenarios to find ways she did it wrong. Considering all the people she has hurt. All the people that her existance does not help. All the people that she is a burden upon.
The Muse loses herself in this void. The void she dances to try to escape from. Nobody likes her. Nobody likes the real her. But why should they? The real her is terrible. A monster. Nobody could ever get into her if they knew what lay below the surface. The muse comes up with a plethora of scores of thousands of reasons she must not let people know what is actually going on with her. Why nobody wants to have anything to do with her.
Why even when she parties, it only has people looking at her for her physical body. The beauty that she knows is only skin deep. She knows they are all superficial and will never long for the real her. That being with them will only be a short lived empty joy. A short terrible joy that is fleeting and almost not worth the effort.
The Muse stars off into the darkness that feels like she is staring into infinity. Is her being here worth the effort? Nobody ever wants to accept that sometimes some people are better off dead if they know the person. How many people who knew and hung out with Hitler willing to admit the world would be better off with him dead? How many people who chilled with HH Holmes, John Wayne Gacy and others would agree the world would be better if they were dead?
Why should the Muse believe anybody who is against her being dead who hangs out with her? They don't know the truth of her. They don't know anything other than her face looks nice. Those happy things they say are but banal fantasies they lie to themselves. Because society teaches you to lie bold face lies to people to be polite.
The Muse thinks to every time she was forced to apologise when she wasn't actually sorry. Every time she was forced to say something nice as a child when she didn't want to be nice. Every instance that she was given the lesson that people saying sorry and complimenting you are doing it because they are forced to by society. None of them ever actually think those things. They are just lying so they can be socially responsible.
The Muse rolls over to lay on her belly. Staring off into infinity always has her understanding the uncomfortable truths. She knows it is the truth because it doesn't sound nice. She knows lies because they sound nice. That is how society always works. Put forth some fiction so that you can participate in it. Be told all kinds of fiction by others participating in society.
Looking into the pillow her face planted into it felt nice. It was a lie--but she couldn't get to sleep staring into the infinity that she sees when laying on her back. It was a bad infinity every time. Even if she was laying on her back with somebody else doing stuff. At least then she could blame the bad infinity on the lack of skill of the person doing stuff to her while she was laying on her back. The infinite time span of badness she is aware of can be their fault at that point
Here she is just alone... it cannot be another persons fault. It has to be hers. But with her face in the pillow she can stop thinking about how she has hurt people. Figure out new ways she has hurt people. Remember the other suspicions of harm she causes by being around. Think about arguments against any reason she shouldn't be here anymore.
She tries to fall asleep. She knows she is useless. She looks nice. People think she looks nice. Nice people are only nice on the outside. This is the proof she needs to know she is terrible on the inside. Terrible at doing anything and everything. And just a burden.
Yeah... she is a good looking burden. But with how much she weighs, as a fancy hood ornament on a car, she has got to be causing all kinds of issues for the L/KM or MPG rating for the car. Wait... she was fat. She wasn't able to fit into her old size 1 jeans anymore. She was a fucking whale. Soon she would be ugly and useless. As well, all good looking people age. She is probably going to be some bitter old terrible person who nobody could like as her outside beauty has gone.
Either way--even if she wasn't such a bloated beached whale... the amount of weight and adult female would add to the car and fuck with the aerodynamics would have the adult female as a hood ornament being a rather costly addition. She just cost people money, and never provided anything good.
She was the worst. Like the totally worst.
The blankets feel warm. She curls up in a ball. She eventually passes off into sleep.
Until she wakes up the next morning. The Muse knows she is easily replaceable. In fact--it would be better if everybody just replaced her. She only holds people back. She only brings aesthetic to the table. Which isn't something you can have as your only skill on a resume.
She slowly rouses from her sleep. Her room a mess. She is a mess. Her only assets are her looks. She knows this because she has looks as an asset. That means she is useless in every other way. Which total sucks. She tried being ugly when she was younger. She couldn't pull off not looking nice.
Yeah, some people she hangs out with say she is skilled. They are lying to her. Even if they weren't how could she easily know. There are some girls that guys lie to, and they actually believe what the guys say. Even though it is only to get into their pants. They'll say anything to make the girl feel better. Including saying their shit is awesome--when it is a fucking crappy ass macaroni duck that even their mother would set on fire to not have it in her sight.
Any and every skill she has ever been complimented on is suspect. She is just as likely to be terrible at all of them. Just having people lie to her, so that she'd drop her panties for them. Lying so she'd feel good about her useless self. She most likely sucked at all of them. She most likely was completely incompetent at all of these things.
Most likely she'd do these things, and if it was anywhere important, people would go and edit it all and change it so it wasn't terrible. Not letting her know they would never show the real version she made. Because it was too horrid and crappily made.
Her feet were cute. She had been told that a few times. By people who were so much more lewd about their responses than the actual skills that mattered. She didn't matter. She just was too much effort to keep around.
The Muse eventually gets up from the bed, and gets dressed. If she lays in bed, it will only result in feeling pain when she got up later. She couldn't stay in bed forever. She had tried. She had tried to lay down and just never get up. Her body had complained about it.
Her body forced her to get up and move everyday. Her body forced her to go outside and be problematic by her continued existence.
She needed to find something to do today... to turn off her brain. To stop thinking. There wasn't much she could do about the truth.
Besides... she knew if she just lied, the truth would never matter. Like every time as a child she was told to lie about her feelings because they were inconvienant. Lie about feeling sorry, because it was expected to lie about. Lie about something she liked--even though it was rubbish. So that somebody wouldn't feel bad. Somebody who was really easy to lie to. Somebody who never even suspected she hated that crap. Because they were stupid.
Just... put on a smile... and lie with everything you say. Because... the truth is not welcome in this world. Which is okay, because you know you are not welcome in this world. Society's requirements to run in it, shall be its own undoing. As by society requiring all these lies... society had created a blind spot and a location The Muse was not able to stick around.
Maybe... one day society will fix itself and require truth. This would be a world The Muse would then be forced to be dealt with, and no longer able to exist in society.
One day... the world will be a much better place.