Museless.

Muse,
You were. . .amusing.
Sometimes you tickled.
Sometimes you ticked me off.
Other times you reached
so far down my throat
I would gag and
What came out wasn't pretty.
Many times it seemed
You were tangled in my guts.
Somehow you figured you could
steer inspiration from there.
Well anyway, it all worked.
For then.
But now, well . . .
We need to talk.
I want you out,
to be frank.
I need a new Muse
and he's going to rent your space
so you can't be here anymore.
This is the last poem, I hope,
that you will inspire.
Thanks for everything.
We can still be friends.
So . . . Take care.