UnPoetia:Sonnet About Not Having a Muse

Poetry for people who hate poetry

My muse—you left me for another man;
Away to hell you sped far from my mind
I try to write, yet there is nought to hand
Come back! Not fair! You're being so unkind!
You are not here so now I grieve and moan,
And moan about how you are here no more.
No thought or feeling I would once have owned;
You've always done the rest of it before.
Yet somehow I am still compelled to write;
We're ten lines in and so you have returned:
Although my lines still reek of petty shite,
We must be going—I will not be spurned!
For now we're hand-in-hand just like two socks,
Unbothered by this couplet's paradox.