Fortunately
you are not my muse

I've worn out muses
by the dozens
cast them aside
like chaff
and cherished the sorrow
that ensued

Sadness was my calling card
my tragic handshake
a testament to a life
gone wrong

Age improved me
I survived the madness
came back to life
gasping for air

And so to your door
to spin the wheel
of language
to glory in its intricacy

Two poets alive
in the same century
two restless souls
under one uneasy roof

We will survive our families yet
raise a toast
when the day comes
to the dear
and thankfully departed

We'll leave poetry
like confetti in our wake
and touch the holy stone
once or twice yet
in our lives

I pray it will be so.

I'm broken.
I'm alone.
I'm nobody's token,
I'm a dog without a bone.

Two broken souls will find each other,
Hang on for life,
And find their lover.
But there will always be strife.

If broken recognizes broken,
And I am alone,
Will there be a time when,
I find my broken clone?

There's nobody around.
Is he someone I've already met?
Or have I just not found
Someone as broken as me yet?

I am always wrong,
I say things that I don't mean.
*I do not love you.

Glaring at the sun as the sun glares back, losing sense of time, my minds lost track, words are all that's left as I piece them in my brain.

                     ˙ǝuɐsuᴉ ʎpɐǝɹlɐ ɯ,I
             ssǝupɐɯ sᴉɥʇ ʇɥƃᴉɟ ooʇ ǝʇɐl oʇ