Gone

Now, my hours seem a lot longer. They somehow seem a lot shorter, all the same. Or it is maybe that I do now have a clue which of the above two is the case. I scavenge my surroundings, scrape the bottom of my think-tank, for things, and emotions, so that I can put them into words. For I have lost my muse.

Yes, conjuring up psychedelic paintings ain't beyond my grasp. For that, I need my crayons. And sure I can go out to buy them. But today, the shops ain't letting me in. It's either that, or they have not what I search for. Or it is that they know, I won't get what I need in their shop. For I have lost my muse.

I think more than I care to tell. Of things long gone, of moments I can't spell. Maybe now, I won't rhyme. Specially if, if I whine. And stupidly do I so write, of things I know of not, nor know why. I wonder, about the world at large, beyond this cage, I sit inside. But nothing comes ti my mind. For I have lost my muse.

Why do this, is all I ask. This pretense, that Oh,you care! All is nice, all  is fine. I'll thank you, but the gratitude isn't mine. Little do I have to say, and why bother what ever be it may? No offense, hopefully none taken. And if taken, not that I care. A wave, a smile, isn't any use. For now I know, I have lost my muse.

Maybe, I'm angry, but only at me. Trust too much, before I see. Of all plans, and device, Spare I shall not, an ounce of despise. To be angry, sad, mad, or stoic, is getting beyond me to decide. Maybe, I shall let loose, with Nemesis, crazy, and high on booze. Oh, I forgot, she need not a drop. Or perpetually drunk she is, I confuse. Anyway, I have lost my muse.