this morning i woke up and there was nothing left in me that could create

stood before canvas it mocked me in ten different shades of white
turned to pen and paper the lines ran circles around my neck and tightened like a suffocating noose
picked up watercolour they washed themselves clean of my hands
traipsed to music the notes evaded my grasp
looked in the mirror and my reflection spat in my face
the horrible realisation took hold of my bones and rattled my teeth
that i was never meant to create
and everything i did before came not from within
and now i am without

perhaps it would have been better to have continued pretending that i was worthy of being a muse
painting on masks while painting mountains
perhaps it would have been better to have let the red take over
red skirts red hurts

i am no femme fatale