For those whose clockwork servitude to the Muse renders them fools,
               bards like me, as clueless in love as the ones who worship us—

No morals ’cause it’s not a fable
My crazy attracts crazier
I’m not worried about privacy
I’m concerned about exposure

No, I’m not over it, not yet
Call me Bristol ’cause I’m bored with your
Story, always asking me to
Join your fold, a house of cards I burn

Tables overturned, spinning your Hertz
Into words talent works into
Beats hearts mourn, the damage permanent
No labouring over a poem

No ring on my rhythm finger
Hitting hard the middle C between
My F-U Keys, oh, it’s just like
Drinking a cigarette whenever

You linger here, trampling every
Boundary, a diva who’s not
Even a singer fucking up my
Myth with love’s terrible flavour

Your role in my tale’s debatable
An appendix that’s expendable
Or don’t you remember how the
Villain’s always more relatable?

Tears that taste like honey, you remind
Me of an anti-heroic
Coupling not worth noting, I recall
How my foot fell and I knelt, balling

Until I dropped my wealth on our death
Sidestepping the truth without regret
Living with it until you hit
My rock and bottomed again