It consumes you, you fear you won’t come out alive, or at least unchanged. Your muse is a harsh mistress, beating you until the idea is finished and out, pelting you with cold fat drops, making you dance and curse, not allowing you shelter.
You should thank her.

it truely is a love/hate relationship with my muses (yes, there are many, and each is demanding)

Instead of pelting me with rain, mine just goes absent for long periods of time without any note.

I like this though, good story and setting throught while sticking to the rhyme scheme, which is impressive. Thank your muse for this one