I am the poet,
You are my muse.
You don’t yet know it,
But I have a fuse.

Everything that you say,
Everything that you do,
Affects me in some way,
But which way? I’ve no clue.

When you say nice things,
I become like Joy.
But I have invisible wings,
I’m an angel you can destroy.

If you treat me with abuse,
I won’t be quite the same.
That’s when I turn on my fuse,
And Anger becomes my name.

How should I kill you?
That’s a wonderful question!
I think a chainsaw will do.
It’s the synonym of perfection!

I thought that I loved you,
Suppose I was wrong?
If love’s a word, then I’ve no clue,
How to rhyme words to form a song.

Oh---my lovely muse!
How our time together has been quaint.
I only wanted to use,
You so I could become a poetic saint.