A muse used to be beautiful

Filthy in fantasy

Non-existent unless brutally immortalized

Innocent until proven guilty

Had she known better she wouldn’t

Bored of the cycle

of being only a disciple

She follows faint footsteps

Closer to the ground, it’s warmer

The earth is whispering

Down there, no one is dead

She made herself a higher power

A creator

A muse used to be beautiful

But rarely is she made in her own image

A muse built by a monster is bound to be destroyed