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govs (

govs) rakstīja,
@ 2025-06-26 19:28:00

kaads vareeja rezumee par suņa txt

zivs, liecies mieraa

(Ierakstīt jaunu komentāru)

	eizhens 2025-06-26 19:31 (saite)
	likties mierā lol (Atbildēt uz šo)

(Anonīms)
2025-06-26 23:27 (saite)

look,
the muse is feral.
she doesn’t wear lingerie.
she shows up wrapped in ash
and a blood drenched tongue
that screams,
“you’re not ready for me.”
she will not hold your hand
or tell you you’re special.
she will set you on fire
and laugh while you forget
everything you thought you were.

so, you wanna wake her up?
good luck, lover.
but if you’re into chaos,
if you’re ready to be ruined
in the most exquisite way,
then here’s how to seduce her:

step one: stop begging.
you can’t summon her
with scented candles
and a vision board.
she’s not your therapist.
she’s not here for your comfort.

throw the to-do list out the window.
delete the playlist.
stop pretending you’re in control.
muses don’t come
for the well-behaved.
they come for the ones
who are already half-mad,
who reek of dirty laundry
and dance in the dark nights
of the soul.

step two: bleed a little.
she loves the smell of pain.
not the poetic kind.
the real stuff.
the messy, raw,
my-guts-are-on-the-floor-
and-i’m-smiling-anyway kind.

spill it.
every shameful thing
you’ve been too afraid to say.
every unholy thought
you tried to shove under the rug.
let her see the wreckage.
let her taste the blood.
she’ll come closer
if she thinks you’re dangerous.

step three: rage on the blank page
like it owes you money
slam your fists on the keys.
scribble like your pen is on fire.
write something so bad
it makes you cringe,
then write worse.

the muse doesn’t want perfect.
she wants chaos.
she wants you sweaty and swearing,
tearing holes in your notebook
because you’re too wild to slow down.
show her you’re not afraid
to make a mess.
she’s into that.

step four: get weird
the muse is kinky as hell.
she’s into the strange,
the surreal,
the shit that makes no sense.

write her a poem
about the time you fell in love
with the partner
who abused you
like your fucked up parents.
tell her you’ve been dreaming
of burning down your shit show life.
how it’s sucking the soul
straight out of your blocked throat chakra.
she likes it when you don’t apologize.
she likes it
when you let your freak flag fly.

step five: let her wreck you.
the muse doesn’t make love.
she makes legends.
if your art still feels safe,
you haven’t met her yet.
she arrives mid-divorce,
while you’re crying
on the bathroom floor,
and says,
“finally.
now you’re soft enough to sing.”

don’t fight it.
don’t try to hold on.
she’ll leave when she’s ready,
and you’ll be lying there,
dazed and half-naked,
wondering what the hell just happened.

but here’s the thing:
you’ll wake up the next day
still tasting her on your lips.
and you’ll realize,
that chaos?
it’s yours now.
she gave it to you.
do something with it.

a final warning:
the muse doesn’t do second dates.
she’s not here for your ego.
she’s not here for your deadlines.
she’s here for your death
and rebirth.

so if you’re not ready to burn,
stay asleep.
but if you are,
then grab a match.
strike it.
light yourself up.
she’ll find you.
and maybe
you’ll find yourself, too.

(Atbildēt uz šo) (Diskusija)

	govs 2025-06-26 23:51 (saite)
	skaisti teikts (Atbildēt uz šo) (Iepriekšējais)

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