"...then write me a million poems."
he stood there
waiting for me
to drip the ink.

"...I am your muse, for eternity."
He could be true
for I find the sun, stars, moon,
oceans or seas
springing
inside his soul

"...without me, there'll never be a piece."
Here I am,
not moving an inch
slowly dropping the pen on
slow motion, I can hear the faint
clank of its metal

"... you are nothing."
His grin vanished without a trace
I don't know what to say,
so what I did, was just walked away.