A Letter I Plan to Write When I’m Less Drunk (In the Morning, Perhaps)

Dearest Melpomene,

You find hilarity in the harm I cause

You only write tragedy through me

If only my racing thoughts I could pause

Without you my words won’t come at all

My Muse, you inspire such revulsion

You would find funny the harm my words cause

My Muse, you whisper such sweet revelations

If only my racing thoughts I could pause

You would find such pleasure in pain

My Muse, you inspire such vile thoughts

If only you weren’t my boon as well as bane

My Muse, you whisper such sweet nothings

You marble rattling ‘round my brain

You take such pleasure from my pain

Your aconite makes my spirit wane

If you were only my boon instead of bane

My bone box isn’t big enough for us both

You marble rattling ‘round my brain

You top me off, your laugh I loath

Your nightcap makes my spirit wane

You only write tragedy with my hands

My bone box isn’t big enough for us both

But without you, the words just won’t come

You top me off and I drown in my sorrows

Your Loving Puppet,

The Writer