The Life of a Muse

I can no longer be the object

The object of your limerence you mask as love 



The muse you so openly and obsessively desire

The muse you admire from the stars

Unknowing of the fuel I burn to shine bright enough

for you



Because pretty with a poker face is a powerful tool

to satisfy an egocentric Icarus like you

I burn enough so you don’t find yourself wanting to get closer



It’s a lonely life, the life of a muse

Spending my days burning so bright for others to admire

but never love 



Forever being the girl with the pearl earring

A painting immortalized in a museum to be admired

for you to gawk and talk at, but never with 



Because you, you egocentric Icarus, 

adore the art but not the person, 

You adore the star but never the hot gas burning at its core

The atoms that change and evolve,

The gas that eventually dissipates, scattered across the universe



And I, the muse

will spend the rest of my days alone,

Never truly being known

Only adored for the moments you capture in time