It must be a roller coaster
Being my muse
One day, you’re perfect
The next
You **** moldy rocks
I have many muses
Hundreds even
And I could write one
*******, ******* poem
And who knows how many people
Would think, “maybe I am an *******.”
It’s the reverse muse
The dark matter in between
The effect on the author
And
The effect on the muse
Who is really just an innocent party
Judged throughout time
Via a burn in poetry
Nobody knows it’s you, maybe
But it’s all in the energy
Kept alive through my poetry
And I am shallow and petty
But it feels like sinless revenge to me