Broken Muse

Have to compose from my mind and not my heart

Words fly by and feelings stop at no

When I am dead its hard to live

Its hard to experience everything life is

So writing is again an exercise

In finding what is dead inside.

I want lines

I want the comfort of boundaries

But my airy dreams make me

Just a little bit reckless

I want lines but I am in the middle of a transformation

I cannot seem to make myself color in between

I have my own feather pallet, brushes, and paints

But I refuse to sketch a lie.

Coffee artists caffeinate their canvas

By spilling mocha coca on their essays to grade

Another English teacher is a failed novelist

If only people could bring themselves to read

But punkass kids know they know it all

They only think that the older you get

The more out of touch you seem to be

I think they have a point

In order for things to be as it was when they were a kid

Teachers have to stop forgetting their dreams.

Oh, I know I have a broken muse

These words so heartfelt

Conjured from my thoughts making me cry

It’s not that I refused to live

It’s that I let myself die

The breath of hopelessness

The memory of you

Are the only demons keeping me alive

I have written many pieces

About death and fading away

It all means what you make it to be

My muse is just within

So it is you who have broken me.

It’s my turn now to raise the dead,

So fuck yourself

And get out of my head.