The Fate of the Muse
I plant seeds into your skull and watch as daisies start Blooming in the springtime of our discontent.
I cut the stems with glass shards of crystal stars.
Glitter spattered in your hair.
Synth sparkles and nylon strings write you
Into a melancholy melody (one I can never get enough of):
Dusty pink pointe shoes and lace curtains,
Porcelain cups and chamomile tea.
I see your shadow in the corner,
And remember who I used to be.