My Muse

 

I’ve come to learn over time,

That tragedy makes me write,

The pain and gnaw in my chest,

The deep perfusion of stress,

I see a world come alive,

And notes, chords, and some lines,

It’s kinda worrying I think,

This lack of balance apparent,

I feel at home with the stink,

My ghoulish terror apartment,

I don’t know if it’s a curse,

Or something new to hallowed,

Or maybe if I’m afraid,

And writing this keeps me hinged,

Dark and dusty the days,

I read the line in my page,

And think to follow that with a say,

Numb and thirsty my fate,

Passion, hobby, obsession?

A demonized incarnation?

I don’t know none of that,

All I know is this fact,

That tragedy is my muse