conjure

I'm so glad I'm in this house.
My muse is back, and she's screaming. She doesn't want her story told, but I tell her I'll change it until it can't be recognised by anyone but her and me. I promise her the men won't know.

I'm alone, as I write, and I cry for you.
Because I'm alone, I can cry for you.
I bawl tears of hate and anger for everything that's happened to you.
I'd kill for you. I would, and I want to.
But you love him, and you still do.
So I sit and write.
I write about how horrible life has been to a woman so beautiful as you. And I cry for you, over and over.
Sometimes I weep with you, but most often without.

Why does everything bad happen to me? you asked once.
I couldn't answer then, and I still can't, I'm sorry.
But I'll hold you,
as much you need me to,
and then a little bit more than that to help you fight the bad memories away.