Does a poet really need pain?
if so then you were my muse
no I'm not proud of it
because you made my life hell
but in some ways
I miss it.
Maybe this makes me a masochist
maybe I'm a glutton for punishment
but for a long time
have seemed a little less sharp
as if the river of tears that once gave them life
has started to dry up,
and turned to dust.
The pain that once burned inside of me,
has dulled along with my tongue,
and the messages I once needed to spit,
seem common and unfinished.
But for now,
I will let the words sit docile,
as I bask my skin in the new found sun,
and appreciate its warmth,
while I wait for the burn to set in.