She's abundantly talented
in the art of cruelty
plotting insurrection after riot
assassination after flood
as if I wanted it
But we can't even talk
(she doen't speak the language
of moderation)
She disappears for weeks
weapons tucked
into her garter belt
I come home to find her
sprawled on the bed
a smile on her face
waiting for my loving

I am overwhelmed by all she's done
in the name of inspiration
but she can't stop
giving me everything
the blood on our bed
her body beside me
her hands on my flesh
her gifts drawing images
epics from my soul
all my words choking me
I gasp for her breath
to fill me again
and she's taking my payment
over and over
til I hold her down
and take what I need
then oh my love my sweet
sweet psychopathic muse
I lift my voice
dip my tongue in her ink -
and we're satisfied

until tomorrow's murder
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©Darusha Wehm  
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