“oh so it’s all my fault?”
Pretty much…
Being Muse: It’s a really tough gig.
Like when your neck is going to snap off going down on a girl so long but you’ve got her RIGHT on the edge so you don’t

If it’s good, then it’s your fault.
When it curbed, yes, it was your fault.
It’s a hard fucking job.
But stop complaining, it’s you who got yourself into this mess. Deal with it, suck.

Fuck, how?
Just go with it. Keep circling round, you know it.
So far, you’ve been good at it.
I know it’s hard to be used, my precious Muse.
But you’re the toughest sonofabitch I sort of know, so not concerned.
You’re insecure, too, sometimes flashing feathers and looking to prove, be not deterred.

When it stops being your fault
it’s that I don’t-won’t care so much.
Amused: It’s my schtick
Like when that lover called me “The Devil” for luring him in, ripping open his heart, getting what I wanted, then gave up. Moved on.

Be: Muse, enthused you bring red and blues and hughes’ hues to some silly girl you once knew a few hours over chords played by a married man. I got your back.

© Sylvie Hill 2013