'not even a kiss goodbye'

The twist of the spurned muse.

She bears no slinking conscience nor withering guilt. For if we miss the grasp of a dream's creativity, it is like the innocence of that first loving kiss dying on your lips. That innocence, once gone, can never be dredged up again. It manifests its grief in the twist and rampant madness of a bad hair day.

I chose to shave my head so the muse had no recourse against my wayward thoughts...

Didn't work

Nice read.