how do you describe your muse: by vice or by virtue

maximalists mourning sanity you me

theory or truth: every goddess is as hauntingly cruel

composed confessions confuse a diptych from a dm be it proclamations or public displays of affection whatever it was was finely honed to perfection

contemporary clio

but with a lack of direction

designed to be desired if only charmed by sight young, joyful, and free except when desisted from dancing down cobblestone streets

tragic

now bodies move to lyrics inspired by me

the crown of ivy died as I doused my melpomene mask a veil of silence and desolate distance doomed now our exodus, what was once in bloom

extrapolating intimacy suspended by assumption

star crossed or stars conflated: all in the image of the muse

most hated