xx Ella.Z

If only he knew my words are true. And my words are all meant for him. I write and write, From day to night. I write my heart out, And you it's all about. I write to make you see, Still I can't make you love me.

When being asked who are my muses, I have to say ..all of you. These hands just couldn't stop writing when you came to me with an inspiring tale. Muses? I have a lot of them and I'm not ashamed of it. I can't tell you their names but I can tell you this --he'll be the one who I used to love, the one I left for another, the one I cheated on, the one I secretly in love with but can't call my own, the one who fill in my loneliness at night, the one who I think is a nuisance of wanting my attention, the one who I smiled at when we cross path, the one who I laid eyes on while sipping my favourite frap at Starbucks. Indeed, he can be anyone at all. Anyone that I have encountered at least once or twice or more in my life. And truthfully, I use them without permission to get inspired. Well, isn't that what a muse's job is? To be the source of inspiration to a starving poet like me who feeds on inspirations and turn living souls into poems? My guess is...

God! I blame my Chinese dream guy for this. A mandarin song that sings his voice couldn't be more soothing and inspiring eh? Like a singing bird in the morning, You whistle a song for me to hear. 我爱你 Wo ai ni, it sounds enchanting, Letting me smile coated with cheer. In between the lines, I was yearning, Of your voice and touch to hold me here. And your Chinese lullaby keep on playing, To shower me with love from someone so dear.

Wonderful, isn't it? To have a beautiful creature called muse that made words flowing in your veins, indefinitely.  A perfect poem description of the muse in the short story scrap I once wrote. The taste of his kiss, it's deadly. A lethal weapon that could kill me. Like a poison calls for no mercy, In a flash moment, it stings me. The tone of his voice, it's inviting. A sly invitation to where, I can't resist. He rings as a dangerous calling, My heartbeat skips, to that whisper of his. The stars in his eyes, it's heavenly. A gateway to a world, which I travel in. Though his stare gleams a dream for me, Lost my way to infinity and within.

Every poet is nasty. They make up words --stealing them from every single damned being they have encountered.  I don't want your love, I want your egotistical to drive me mad. I don't want your touch, I just want to feel your whisper of sweet nothings bathing over me. I don't want your promises, I want all of your lies to sugar-coated me. I don't want your attention, I badly want your ignorance to keep me starving for days. What I want? I certainly don't want you but I want what I want from you. For I am that one nasty little poetess you knew quite well who will suck inspirations out of you --to get my fingers dancing on the papers with words and oh! nothing but words while my heart burning down in flames for you.