From the Muse

You consume yourself with thoughts

Slowly, Slowly sipping the poison

Of degenerate creativity.

I see you and your vacant cries.

Your hopeless attempts to philosophize

A world that you take no part in.

Tell me how many hours you are alone

Each passing day, merely thinking of the soft

Slope of my features and the poignant

Symbolism of all that I do. Immortalizing me

In song and line, using me as an escaping

Flight of air to fuel your suffocated soul.

You are the ever present shadow of logic

And rational dissection

Whilst I go on living,

Whilst you are apathetic

To the beating of your heart.

There was a time when in you I confided

my soul, my thoughts, my words.

Perchance the words that fell from

These lips like petals, you would

Find the flower to, for you

Are so much more contemplative than I.

Now I pity you, and your pathetic state

Of distance from all forms of living.

I tried with every muscle to pull you from

Your depths, but you have determined

Content with anxiety and medication

To soften the sharp blade of the knife

You plunge into your stomach again and again,

In the name of intellectual sanctity

And originality.

You refused my love,

For it was not the kind

That you desired.

Suffer in your bottomless well of

Dripping memories and moldy thoughts,

Those thought by old men before you

Who died in loneliness.

Plunge slowly into the water

Like a cold rock, weightlessly

Drifting into an abyss of thought,

Slowly driven mad

By himself.