Diagram A. Eisoptrophobia

He’s full of rage and he can’t be my muse. Can you?

I need sadness, craziness, throw in a multiple personality or two, but not anger.

Scorching hot. I can’t touch that, it’s not inspiring. I can’t feed off that succubus.

What I really need is someone with a wider range of emotions.. someone who understands passion, uncontrollable passion.

I’m not looking for love (I’ve tasted fragments of that). I’m looking for a muse. An idea. I don’t want to touch. I want to pine over you, I want to close my eyes and let the emotions just slide off my fingertips. If the passion was there I could touch someone and send chills up their flesh but I’m emotionally void at this point. Someone killed that part of me off the last time they called me a cunt. On my birthday.

I’m setting myself apart from your life. I’m going to drift along the currents and wait to see what happens. I want to hover over your neck and give you goosebumps as I think about closing that distance and making contact. But I won’t do that. There are thoughts in your mind that I want to break free so I can figure it all out. I’ll use your tears as the ink in my quill. You be my muse and I’ll write you into fantasies, you’ll live, die, make love a million times over. You’ll be the hero, you’ll be the lover, you’ll be the addict, the villian, the saddist, the slave, you’ll live a hundred lives and never die. I’ll see to that. Just be me muse.

Whisper in my ear. You know you want to. Tell me how you want to feel and I’ll make sure it happens. You be my golden goose and I’ll reward you with a fragment of my love.

It’s all I can offer you and nothing more. Be my muse.