• thunderbird__ 6w

    my words wait for
    the muse which once arrived
    sailing in the Stygian
    singing to me of love

    as Kafka's letters

    and i'd cut off my ear
    gulping unfelts
    down my throat like
    Van gogh eating yellow paint ~

    for two hundred and forty days
    we kept chasing each other
    just to push each other
    light years away

    worn out from head to toe
    he called himself a poet
    pumping honed metaphors

    his loneliness conversating
    with every night's sky ~

    i held him tight
    in my every poem

    furbishing his doomed life
    with my afflictions

    and he rebelled like
    Camus to draw
    his existence ~

    so before you
    change the shape of your poem
    to put me as your muse in it
    replaying the song of history

    know that now
    i don't fit in poetry

    i can only
    weave forlorn stories ~

    @mirakee @writersnetwork #forlorn #mirakee #writersnetwork #ceesreposts #pod

    Read More

    Before you call me a muse for your poetry,
    know that now, i'm only adept at weaving
    forlorn stories