Muse

She was a mess of tangled hair,
a pack of cigarettes, and a bottle of gin.
She could drink like a fish,
and f*ck like a dream,
but her eyes were empty,
and her soul was torn.

She stumbled through life,
with a reckless abandon,
leaving destruction in her wake.
She had no direction,
no purpose,
just a streak of madness,
that guided her footsteps.

She found solace in the bottom of a glass,
and comfort in the arms of a stranger.
She had no friends,
only acquaintances,
who knew her by name,
but not by her soul.

She was a poet,
with words that raged like fire,
and a heart that bled with pain.
She wrote of love,
of heartbreak,
of loss,
and of the darkness that consumed her.

She was his muse,
his inspiration,
his devilish sidekick.
And though she left chaos in her wake,
He loved her,
and found beauty in her madness.

He just never could find the courage
To tell her.
Though it was something,
She desperately needed to hear.

She was a mess,
a hurricane of fury,
but in her own twisted way,
she was beautiful.