Flesh firm ripe
Juices spilling
Carnal fruition

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Every woman deserves to be someone’s muse

Immortalize her
Paint her with undying words
She is your purpose
The reason you toil
The reason your soul bleeds
The reason you can’t fall asleep without her clinging to the tendrils of sleep trying to wrap you in sweet unconsciousness

She’ll be the reason you can’t absentmindedly look at lakes

She’ll be why your pen keeps moving
She’ll be the ink when your pen runs dry
She’ll be there, even if you can’t touch her

She’ll always be there

You know that lump in your throat?
The one that feels like you’ll choke any second?
Those are the words you sent to die in your stomach
They’re the ones you wanted to say
The ones you thought might fix everything
Or maybe they’d fucking kill you, who knows?

But you swallow that lump, and you breathe and you wonder if those words would ever be given a voice, granted an audience
because God knows they’re not dead,
they’re churning around in your stomach
giving you hell for what you’ve done

And look, I’m sorry, this is the best that I can do. I hope that counts for something.