The Muse's Bitch

The muse's bitch, she wipes her face
and pounds her pain in letter keys
Her work emerges, groans and gripes
As she reports of her disease

The muse's slave, another day
With shit her only compensation
If his disdain was worth a dime
She'd live in wealth from her frustration

The muse's fool, she lacks a spine
Resolved to take no more and then
When facing battle, backs away
To yield to him once and again

The muse's bitch, she lives to serve
And what she gives, you don't deserve

The muse's heart, it's buried deep
The joy, the beauty long-forgotten
See, now, what work that you inspire,
Acidic bile, and fruit that's rotten