Muse #1
The greatest art never sees the light of day
You'll be back.
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1.0
Love is withdrawal like a drug you can’t refuse,
Thoughts are anguish with a motive to confuse, Scarlet hair like fire, eyes like vicious claps of blinking hues, Some say she is a witch, I say she is a muse. Ignorance is bliss, my sanity I’m happy to lose, She shies away from compliments and her generosity abused, By those who are selfish, cowardly ooze. I want to be significant in her life; I must follow the clues, I must win her trust; I must pay my dues, For I’m in love with inspiration, the author of my lit fuse. We will never be together, my ego eternally bruised, However, I will not leave; it’s not a choice I can choose. To inspire inspiration is a challenge I can’t refuse, I’ll carve it into my bones like bloody tattoos, I’m in love with a shadow that illuminates my views. Let me paint you a picture with words verbose, Vinegar is sweet; sand is silk; I have the antidote to your troubles, A suitable dose. John . . . your fantasy with me is a dead end, so the solution is to live your life in reality. Wake up. — Muse. 1.1
Love is not practical; line up in a queue,
Romantics can’t accept a rejection at face value. The height of insecurity, the dearth of regret, My spirit is broken, expectations I must reset. Convenient truths, I’m addicted to bullshit, This book is an account of a mind that doesn’t quit. I’m a designer by trade, an artist with a lit fuse, Passionate expression, just my sanity to lose. You are not alone; the pain of living is severe, Some say it’s weakness; I say it’s clear. The gifts you give so freely, your beautiful attention,I’m humbled severely, with the rise of ascension. The nucleus of shame, the torture of fact, I will guide you into my oblivion, you’ll return fully intact. 1.2
A constant search for meaning in a naked mind, the root of agony flows to nourish the unkind.
My flaws beg for laughter from women who admonish scum, dance the darkness falls like the sky is raining rum. There is no purpose to a fallible trek, take the knife to your throat and slice your fucking neck. No one will care trust me I AM you, you are a disgusting mouthful not even a pig would chew. You are fat and ugly and stupid and bland, you deserve to drown in piss your struggle to breathe would be grand. She doesn't love you you stubborn fool, your heart is just a thing to her like a counterfeit jewel. Love is a purpose without meaning, that's lost on you because reality keeps intervening. You're a piece of shit, you deserve to die, kill yourself, you need only try. I cannot rhyme without tears, you irritate me that is clear. Don't you see I exist because you persist. I don't want this anymore you hear me, your death is her glee. Your death, is her glee. Your death, is her glee. Your death, is her glee. Your death, is her glee. Your heart is a counterfeit jewel...worthless. |
The biggest selfish-coward and hypocrite I know. Three-word poet. Remarkable nose. |
The End
What makes you a muse?
Let's talk. I want to document your life through the anonymity of my poetry. People who read your poetry will realize how beautiful you are without knowing what you look like. The body is a consequence of the mind; the mind is a monster. Why? Hell is in the head (biblically). If you remove the body from the equation, the mind is forced to focus on empathy. Why? It feels isolated. Within that is solitude...where there is no prospect of sexuality interfering with your value.
Through your online activity I develop an understanding of your essence. Those who step forward will be assigned a number. That number is the only link from my poetry to your essence.
You are free to use my poetry to share yourself in ways sexuality cannot.
Through your online activity I develop an understanding of your essence. Those who step forward will be assigned a number. That number is the only link from my poetry to your essence.
You are free to use my poetry to share yourself in ways sexuality cannot.