Burnt amber, those pupil-less eyes
Which are adept only at abstraction
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Cadaverous white, that flesh tattooed in
Psionic wounds for which there is no closing
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Scarlet Ibis, those lips which in mourning
Bleed, a language of the viscera and corpuscles
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Graffiti black, that hair which spills over the
Walls like inky runes, betraying and dissecting
My heart on concrete, as if in autopsy
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Her face is unclothed, neither disguised nor
Accented as if imperfection were virtue, she
Speaks bluntly about truth despite the horrors
Enclosed. Unlike me she doesn’t understand
The nature of fear and if my words hesitate
It is only because I have sedated the pen
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She sleeps in the crawl space right between
My heart and diaphragm, my eremitic muse.
Her needs are few though she is demanding
I’m not her master but rather her shell
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She is a psychopomp in ashen cassock that
Speaks through me in dreams, those words
Which only the dead may know. She sends me
Prophecies but for what end I am uncertain
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I am no more alive than she is human, she
Is a fiend, an outcast unaware of exclusion
She is consumed by her own obsessions and
Does not care to what detriment I am exposed
Yet it is she that applies the formaldehyde which
Keeps me here, preserved, vaguely sentient we are
The same in the sense that we are inseparable
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I chose this image because it looks like unattached/unformed muses, I was unable to find an image that really resembled my actual muse. My muse though spooky is not evil (amoral not immoral like nature I suppose) . I do not have an actual name for her but I sometimes refer to her as Ei Vene because there is a character in Planescape Torment for which she has some similarities and whom I use to represent her
mindlovemisery 