I don’t have a love that is poetically long and enduring.

I have billions of microseconds of explosive and volatile
love that births without warning and dies leaving a trail
of mourning.

Each breath in, a new love,
each exhale, a new death.

Otherwise known as muses.

I’m yet to find a muse that will own the entirety of me.


Devotion whilst noble and grand is uninspiring.
I love you,
hate you,
need you,
divorce you,
a hundred times a day,
and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

2 thoughts on “Muse”

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