There is no muse
Like that of false love

Inspirational in all
Its harsh ways

So then
What am i to write about?

I could pretend
I loved you for a minute

And find something
In that lie

But poetry is honest.
You are not.

I havent traveled
Or seen the harshness of the world

All i know is i have this pen
And an urge to say something

Im not good at metaphors
Or complicated lines

Straight forward honest writing
About nothing, nothing at all.