Inwards
A storm’s been brewing;
electrons gather in the
air of repression.
Lingering dust beneath,
all of earth calling
down to me.
I will drag the day
to step into
nights of eternity.
I will defuse the muses
who once longed for my gaze,
retire the old face
that kept anxiety estranged.
I will turn the eyes
of the world
inwards
So I can cling,
just cling
to the picture of Him.
Cover art: Epitome of Anxiety by Wiley, 2014
"I will defuse the muses / who once longed for my gaze," In other words, begone thot (lol), followed up by the immense profoundness of 'retiring the old face that kept anxiety estranged'. The way one's persona manifests in relation to the ego versus its environment is always a fascinating concept to me.
The poem feels like someone finally admitting how heavy it has been to live behind their own silence. There’s a storm gathering inside, not violent but dense, the kind that forms after years of swallowing words. The decision to “defuse the muses” sounds like a quiet rebellion against the pressure to be inspiring or admirable. It’s the moment a person stops performing and lets themselves simply exist. “Retiring the old face” carries the ache of shedding a mask worn for too long, a mask that kept fear at bay but also kept tenderness out. Turning the world’s gaze inward isn’t ego; it’s a plea for space, for breath. And the final gesture clinging to “the picture of Him” feels like reaching for the one presence that doesn’t demand perfection. The poem becomes a confession of exhaustion, yes, but also a fragile act of faith. It’s someone choosing, at last, to return to themselves.