Oh dear! Looks like poor lil’ Cinderella lost one of her 6-inch-heeled plastic slippers! What a shame. Their light-up mechanism totally owned the dance floor at the senior prom last night.
How equivalent are you to your own possibilities if you get to pick and choose what makes them up? Do you make them up?
… that little shit just stabbed me. @%&#! blinded by Love, itself – did not see that one coming…
There’s a pattern to your presence
You opportune in the afternoon
Of days which could have been better
So that you may assert yourself
Persistently upon my person- vulnerable,
Worn with the fear
That I might come to an end
On such a low note
And in so doing
Stain my karma with suck sauce-
That is
Until my structures give way
When I’ll do whatever you say
Completely at your mercy
And you know it
You love it
I come to trust the company
Partake earnestly of your
Readily available inspiration
Conveniently complimenting
My voice, as if an essential accidental
My muse
I am your play thing,
Your means, your mouth piece
Deontologically your private property
In your system deductively devoid
Of sublime freedom
Unfit to master myself, my environs
My muse
This nonsense will not continue
Our occurrence shall be measured
Our qualities substantially distinct
Our being parallel in the eyes
Of everyone who just so happens to be looking
My, my
How flushed your cheeks
How pursed your lips do seem
What say you, now that I’ve talked back
Answered your call without waver?
I’ll play off of the dynamics
Discharging pulsations
Directed towards my position
Derived from the veins
Popping out of your temples
I’ll keep track of us both at once
And our release shall not come
At the sacrifice of self
In reckless abandon
The pattern of your presence
May still be felt in your absence
However, you may join me
If my “Madness” makes you jealous
We are equals
And though confused and philosophical
I know this fact in full
Nevermore, my muse
Never, ever again
Amen.
Animal's House of Muse 