No one is more surprised that I’m writing than I am. I haven’t had the will, the drive, nor the zeal, until you…
But then, you always were my inspiration, from the moment we met…
You toe the fine line between hero and villain, poison and cure.
You sweetly suck the life out of me, while giving me the push to move on.
I think you are.
Masochistic I may be, but I want you to crush me.
Maybe eventually, I’ll have had enough and I won’t be able to forgive you anymore.
For now, each blow is a harsh reminder to move forward, to put pen to paper, sword in hand.
I must atone for my wrongs, I must suffer.
You seem to want me to say these words, you try to drag them out of me,
And yes, each time, you come so close to succeeding.
I’m fooling no one and you know it, you diabolic angel.
You know that each word, each sentence, every bit of what I do is about you.
I should be stronger, hell, I thought I was.
But you forever have me drowning in my angst.
Good must triumph over evil. Right?
Well, you play by the rules of you own game.
Stringing me along, letting me think I’m in control.
When all along, I’m just playing a role.
Twisting me topsy-turvy
Until I no longer know if I should destroy you, or help you to terminate me.
I should despise you, I know I should.
But just when I fiind the rage to vanquish you, you smile.
Of course I am.
So, until the day I find the strength to abandon this pathetic charade, this self destructive ruse,
You’ll forever stay my murderous muse…
You’ll forever stay my murderous muse.
You’ll appear and I’ll write,
I’ll write, when you appear….