Puppet

My muse forces newness to pour out of me; the only negative aspect of our relationship is her timing. She only shows up when I am not well. She appears only when I am laying in my own vomit with the lukewarm feeling of it all over my face while staring up at the bottom of life’s shoe.

I remember the first time I met her back on the hills of north campus, I didn’t know how to welcome her. I was so green, so naïve, the interaction was blissful. The first time was the best; she had crawled into me, and made herself comfortable. She had, in all honesty, borrowed my birthday suit, and just like in the movie ‘Being John Malkovich’ she started using me like her puppet.