The Supposition

You were nothing without me

and I was immortalized by you

stuck up here on this pedestal with no one to sleep next to

And you made me the romantic I always wanted to be

with the intuition I always believed I had

Tragedies were always befalling us

reminding us of an unnecessary divide

I beat you like a drum

because I could

and because I knew you liked the taste of the pain

and because you were forgiving

On Wednesdays I am always certain that you were my biggest regret

But on Sundays I find myself face forward in the other direction

combatting fiction with a dose of the pedestrian

or was it the other way around---

But there are worse things in this life

than being someone's muse