romantic poetry / halsey

1.3

I thought I knew what a muse was until I met you. I'd been inspired before. I'd been intrigued. But I had no idea what a muse was until you put your pink lips to my neck and spit parasites into my ears. Let them climb in and make a home in the soft tissue of my brain. Bred and multiplied and bit into my mind till the memories of you opened like sores and festered in the heat of my anxiety. I opened my mouth and times new roman print flew from its depths like a plague of moths. For 48 hours I was held captive by the college ruled lines of a composition notebook. Wrapped around my wrists like the leather bound work of a dominatrix. You cracked a whip against my skin and sliced my flesh open, scarlet like the margin taunting me. The blue violet galaxy bruises on my neck, my chest, could hardly compare to the scar that rose when you petrified me. You shocked me. Terrified me. Because you inspired me. And I wasn't prepared for the chaos that would follow. A muse. A parasite. A symbiotic relationship. Feed your hungry mind with my open mouth.