Muse or abuse

As I was screarching for something to write about,
You popped up in my mind,
I could write about you,
But then wouldn't you become some sort of,
Muse that I tend to abuse,
The doll I only pick up to play with,
When nothing else is there to entertain me,
Some sort of last resort to turn for inspiration,
It sounds so low, But when it's like this,
To you I'll go...
Somehow you are so much more,
Then I remember every time I sneak out you're door,
In someway I just never dare to stay...
As I was scearching where I should write about,
You came to my mind,
I could write about you,
But then what does that say about me now?
If you'd only known,
That you're the reason for many,
Many of my best works,
For those thoughts about life and meaning,
Instead of the girly in love dreaming,
You've gotten so much more to hold,
That in these words I get told,
But it never sticks to my mind,
As it does to the paper or screens,
And so it seems,
That you can no longer be my muse anymore,
For I don't want to be the abuser...
I am sorry, for turning you into a story.

I am so sorry but I must confess my muse, I don't love you,
Like you do love me, I am sorry for making my muse abused,
I am sorry for making you a story.
Beautiful pic by +Farida L 

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