“abuse the muse”

abuse the musebroken_face_by_dapicture-d78v756.jpg

every page of my story was written with your tears…
not mine… yours…
ev’ry word was a reverberation of your cries.
not mine… yours…
and your demise wasn’t because of death
it was far worse
you became a slave to a poet who only cares for art
and ignored the heart that hides
behind each climax
you served a master who used words to snare
you in his own web of lies.

you were the real poet.
on your own you painted this narrative,
crafted this haiku of never ending 5-7-5.
your masterpiece was stolen just as your freedom was.
it doesn’t matter whether you are black or white.
it doesn’t matter because you were reduced to grays.
your life became the pallet and your blood, the paint                                     of another artist.

you were stacked under floor boards.
discarded and stored for someone else to use.
your body, a canvas that served its purpose now lie
cold and still under the moonlight.
your memory was squeezed until every experience
became the tragedy of many.
until every achievement was the feat of some.
now look at what i’ve become.
a nobleman wearing your life as mask.
i went out into the world and showed every piece of your marvelous skin
as if they were my own.

i robbed you of what makes you human.
i wore your skin like some fairy tale villain
whose appetite never gets satiated
i had the gall to call you an inspiration when the truth is…
you were a prisoner –
and you never got out.

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