Burnt amber, those pupil-less eyes

Which are adept only at abstraction


Cadaverous white, that flesh tattooed in

Psionic wounds for which there is no closing


Scarlet Ibis, those lips which in mourning

Bleed, a language of the viscera and corpuscles


Graffiti black, that hair which spills over the

Walls like inky runes, betraying and dissecting

My heart on concrete, as if in autopsy

Her face is unclothed, neither disguised nor

Accented as if imperfection were virtue, she

Speaks bluntly about truth despite the horrors

Enclosed. Unlike me she doesn’t understand

The nature of fear and if my words hesitate

It is only because I have sedated the pen

She sleeps in the crawl space right between

My heart and diaphragm, my eremitic muse.

Her needs are few though she is demanding

I’m not her master but rather her shell


She is a psychopomp in ashen cassock that

Speaks through me in dreams, those words

Which only the dead may know. She sends me

Prophecies but for what end I am uncertain


I am no more alive than she is human, she

Is a fiend, an outcast unaware of exclusion

She is consumed by her own obsessions and

Does not care to what detriment I am exposed

Yet it is she that applies the formaldehyde which

Keeps me here, preserved, vaguely sentient we are

The same in the sense that we are inseparable


I chose this image because it looks like unattached/unformed muses, I was unable to find an image that really resembled my actual muse. My muse though spooky is not evil (amoral not immoral like nature I suppose) . I do not have an actual name for her but I sometimes refer to her as Ei Vene because there is a character in Planescape Torment for which she has some similarities and whom I use to represent her


20 thoughts on “Meet Ei Vene

  1. interesting…the way you write it, she could be the one contained in her or you inside she, since she is the one who applied the formaldehyde…i dunno, naming the muse gives it power…not sure i am there yet…smiles.

  2. What a fabulous description. I was enjoying the italicised stanzas because of the visual you give us, but then came the body of the piece and so many wonderful images. My favourite: ‘She sleeps in the crawl space right between/My heart and diaphragm’.

  3. Intriguing, the depths to which you explore the inner landscape; to the point where it extends into reality as not just a reflection, but as an entity looking to fulfill a destiny of its own. Blows me away!

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