My muse is unreliable
Silent most of the time
But when he finally sings
It’s a sound sublime
Unfortunately
For all of us
Including mostly me
He doesn’t
Believe

I cannot miss what I have never had
Or love who I’ve never met
But that sort of mystery
Surrounds you a lot
I’ll bet

The pedestal is rusty
It lost it’s glisten shine
Busted down and termite-filled
How does it look so fine?

There I go repeating myself
As if it helps
But then again
Neither are you
Saying anything new

Would it help if I cried
Out loud
Instead of keeping it
Inside of me
Silently
Choked throat
Stuffed full of
Heart’s bloat
Burning holes
Through fat rolls
Tearing up
Inside of me
Weight on chest
So heavily
Would it help if I
Let you see
How painful it be?

It’s only real to me
In my tenuous sanity
Combined with vanity
Dreams
And how they be
Only real to me

Who I am
And who I ain’t
Not fairly judged by me
Benefit of doubt
I see
Mentally,
I am lucky
Because it is true
You are much too ******* you