Pain is Art

Misery and Muse
Lovers, sitting in a tree
Throwing juicy rotten apples
Down on eager me
I pick them up, brush them off
And take a hearty bite
In it lies the potent nectar
Fueling artsy plight
Down in dumps
The starlet slumps
Kicking dirt around
But there she finds her greatest prompt
Scribbled in the ground
Yes, it’s funny, tragic
Pain and pleasure
Entangled, fornicating
Hard to separate your sorrow
When with your fancy
It is mating
For in moments of serenity
The mind doth draw a blank
But in pure torment, muse is born
Ship’s worth increased when it sank
So misery, I welcome thee
Possess my hand in true
And work your magic, happily
My talent bows to you.