Me and my Muse

From the moment my eyes flutter open,

I hear an endless silence so full of pain.

My mood does not brighten

As I try to self sustain.

When my pain fully expands,

I withdraw my notebook,

And begin to write what my emotions demand.

I take no second look

As I write like blood flows from a wounded man.

I do it in hopes the words will set me free,

And allow my own wings to span

Like a bird's while setting forth from a tree.

My muse may seem strange

But it is the very essence behind my words.

Some may think it needs to change,

But I can handle it as well as nerds

Can cope with advanced classes.

Of course there are times happiness truly comes,

But they are slower than sorghum molasses

When warm weather succumbs.

My world seems to be full of strife,

And my writing may never bring me glory.

If there were three words to sum up my life,

They would be:  an untold story.