The Muse

She looked at the empty page
He looked at  his muse.

She brain stormed scattered ideas

He collected them 

stealing her words away.

She makes love to the whiskey in her hand

while he makes love through the words of another.

She breaks, crumbles , disfigures 

say what you must.

He rises and molds

into the vowels of her mouth.

She stands at the ledge,

giving away the few words she had.

He greedily catches them all from hitting the floor

devouring her soul , her essence

for his art.

But you can still feel her 

in the lines of his poems(her words.)

Therapeutic Breakup

"Come back""Stay""Don't leave"

Lying awake in the dead of the night

covered in swear 

with an aftertaste of regret 

watching her leave

after she has ripped your heart away 

you think "hell with self respect"

and beg.

But she has grabbed the keys and

can barely look you in the eye.

That is how you know.

And in that moment everything hurts

She has shut the door

and you cry and wail 

and hold yourself.

When the morning slowly touches your skin

where her hands previoulsy lingered .

Healing begins.

P.S-

Sometimes what may seem the end of the world is just a blessing in disguise to show you your own worth and dignity.