My muse is a sadist

He comes out in the night
to wallow in my despair.
Perching over my window sill
to bathe in the moonlight.
Only when I suffer he appears.

'Whisk me away to neverland'
is all I wish from him these days
whilst sturring in my sleep.

Sometimes he is gentle
and I turn to him
like a flower towards the sun
willing him to stay for good.
Because only when I suffer he stays.

I fear all I was before we met
a ghost haunting the hallways
of schools, of homes, of hospitals

Sometimes he is mad,
when I am cut by anguish.
So he spills ink like it's my lifeblood
painting me black instead of blue.
Because only when I suffer he laughs.

Oh what a beautiful sound,
he laughs in poetry.
His words drip down my aching wrist
and unto the paper.
But I won't stop, not for the world

You see now,
I am the slave to my muse.