foul muse

do you ever think..of little ole’ me?
the way i smiled, the way i cried
all because of you,
have you no sympathy?
the way i fell completely in love
then out of tune
does it ever dawn on you?

do you ever want to..say you’re sorry?
over your absence, your lies
the nights where i did nothing but cry
where’s my little pity party?
I used to throw them for you when you fell from your highs
but here I am alone being van gogh’s suicide note instead of his starry..night

do you ever want to.. erase me from your memory?
all those moments where i’d be your summer breeze and comfort your sorrows
the ones where I gave you my heart’s beat to borrow
do they even mean anything to you, baby?
because you used to say they got you to tomorrow

do you ever want to.. speak to me again?
or is it too hard to imagine speaking to your past’s ghost?
is that what i am, or am i just the lump in your throat?
do you choke on me when people ask to borrow a pen?

because when you think of ballpoint ink,
you think of me writing you love poetry
and you shrivel and sink into the shoes that protect your bruised feet

i bet i haunt you sometimes, i don’t even have to ask if i do
don’t feel bad because you haunt me too

but i use your lingering shadow as my foul muse


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