dear borrowed muse,
the line
is gone.
empty poems,
powdered eggs,
juried by the past.
forces of nature
filled us
full of mud.
I am still numb
to love,
trapped by memories
of the future.
I let you down,
but I keep reaching out.
I need a little.
sleeping but walking,
performing but puking,
unwanted.
trapse,
some other song.
dear borrowed muse,
do you still think about me
with more than just a laugh?