It's awful that pain is my muse

Angst is who I am when I write

It brings me a multitude of words

Coloring it into a story of sorts that I can escape

And deal with things at the same time

It's a world I draw myself into like some drunk stupor

It's not reality and I might regret it the next day

But it's a hell lot healthier escape

Why do I feed on misery?

I don't want it but at the same time it gives me a lot

It makes me feel I'm alive and have something

Worthy to write about

Is that why there are so few poems detailing happiness?

My museā€¦pain, you kill me and bring me to life