The Nymph

I owe you some honesty - I said to her while she was there burning - After all, you first thought I was a rapist and now you trust me.

She listened deep with terrible blue eyes.

She knew I found her almost perfect but disgusting. Disturbingly vain, the kind of deviation that comes with broken mirrors and beautiful crazy mothers.

I don't like you, I just want to use you to tell my stories- I'm sure she was wet between her thighs as I said it, but she kept refusing to inspire.

She felt like a young hawk that was eager to gnaw all the art and soul that was left in these words.

I craved her liquids. I was falling for her because behind her perfect lines lied the cruelty of a muse trying to give birth to a sculpture of a god.

Through me, she will be great telling stories.