The Fangs of Creativity

Creativity, pressed its two fangs,
Lightly upon my shoulders and pushed.
I did not move.
The fangs threatened to pierce,
And it pushed a little harder.
I did not move.
The pressure on my shoulders grew
A little harder
And my mind shook.
More pressure,
Strong and steady
My confidence shook.
The fangs pierced the first thin layer of skin
And the push grew harder,
My body swayed,
First by a millimeter, then by an inch,
And my step fell, backwards,
Harder and harder it pushed,
Step by step, backwards I went.
Until I felt the smooth, unyielding wall behind me.
Move, it commanded,
With a growl that resonated from deep within its diaphragm.

-written on-
1/12/04
8.45 p.m