you were my muse

that inspired


and I used you

to paint my pictures

with words.

to try and express,

the darkest parts

of the healing within

my mind.


to who?

to you?

no, you were

a cloth that I

adorned my wounds


you were the bruise

that I beat into

for days

and weeks

and months,

to be darkened by

the demons

that found me in the night –

and yes,

you were my heart –

the drumbeat inside

changed when you left,

something missing,

the dance ending,

no less –

the madness and


that followed

because you were my


but you didn’t like that,

except sometimes

when i felt like home

to you back,

and thus,

you became my muse –

and I burned candles,

all over wax

as i spit my breath into words,

as my hands shook through the verbs,

and turned black –

and spells got mixed

in deep regrets

as I burned my herbs

to try and clear mindsets –

but i was left instead with


that covered pages,

ripped and offset,

becoming grids

of rambled shadows

that turned sounds

into poems,

all inspired by

you. —

you, who hurt me the most,

because you were hurting too.

my love turned muse

to help me heal through

the era of my life that I bled

pools of sorrow into-

but rest assured,

I did a lot

for your healing too.


you are my muse

that still helps me turn

worlds into sonnets,

that casts a light on my



in ways you’ll

never even know.

that pours feelings into

the canyons of my


entire being.

you are no longer my heart

but my mind turns to you

when ideas feel lacked

and in some days


when I try to put pen to paper

to break my mind loose –

and I hope that I

still will inspire you too.


you are my muse.

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