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Your overidealized self is my muse

and if I were to let it go, I would miss it dearly —

but how I resent having to choose between my muse and my sanity!

They detest each other;

much too often, one leaves because of the other,

forcing me to chase after her.

My muse looks down with sad gray eyes,

long auburn hair draped over her naked shoulders,

pacing on the soft grass coated with tears of dawn.

My sanity glares at her,

suspicious black pupils of raven

focusing on this intruder,

who does not belong in the domain of my troubled mind.

And while I ponder still whom to keep,

they both resign from their positions,

deserting me.

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