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.