Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
Here musey musey musey!
The pen leaks words,
Feverish and full
Of passion.
They dot the spots
Of my memory.
The muse is a monster
Vomiting
Feeling in the pit
Of my blackhole heart.
Pumping it into my blood,
It is me and becomes
The skin I throw away;
It becomes the words that are
Spittle on my lips;
It becomes the raging
Voices in the catacombs
Of my deteriorating mind.
It is ugly, it is beauty.
It is a shadow that
Wakes me up when I am
In my darkest dreams,
Poking me, prodding me,
Dissecting my thoughts
Into methapor and rhyme.
It is never not with me.
It stabs out my eyes,
Replaces them with
Crystals so I can see
The beauty in all things.
I slices off my tongue,
So I must find a new
Way to speak.
My little monster, my
Little muse that sits in
My veins like toxic poison,
I suffer from it in the best way.
9-8-10
Feverish and full
Of passion.
They dot the spots
Of my memory.
The muse is a monster
Vomiting
Feeling in the pit
Of my blackhole heart.
Pumping it into my blood,
It is me and becomes
The skin I throw away;
It becomes the words that are
Spittle on my lips;
It becomes the raging
Voices in the catacombs
Of my deteriorating mind.
It is ugly, it is beauty.
It is a shadow that
Wakes me up when I am
In my darkest dreams,
Poking me, prodding me,
Dissecting my thoughts
Into methapor and rhyme.
It is never not with me.
It stabs out my eyes,
Replaces them with
Crystals so I can see
The beauty in all things.
I slices off my tongue,
So I must find a new
Way to speak.
My little monster, my
Little muse that sits in
My veins like toxic poison,
I suffer from it in the best way.
9-8-10
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Here musey musey musey!
Here musey musey musey!
