An Ode to Muses to Melpomene

First Fight

You are built with fine lines and forced smiles,

A temple of self-righteousness,

With me perched on your roof.

I misinterpret your language,

While you get tongue-tied pronouncing mine.

Undo my locks,

Dress me like a porcelain doll,

And accompany me everywhere I go.

I contain my verbal, acid, rain,

Only speaking in an unknown dialect,

Becoming accustomed to hesitation,

And haze you with the softest of my harsh blows.

Delighted to indulge in our similarities,

I long to know who you are when sober,

To drive your vehicle of chaos with discipline,

And massage your scalp to receive passage to your third eye.

But now,

You call me your love

And chit-chat with the apparitions of my past.

Our passions are not so quick to burn each other this time,

As we move in silence

And pray for strength.

We brand each other with hot coals, without owners.

Intoxication is left in the broken bed frame,

As I realize that to love, is not to win.

I temper my impulsivity

And you leave your aggression at the door.

I can't stay haunted by the death of you,

If my mallet never strikes you.