Refusing the muse

Drinking from a common vial
Living with a pasted smile.
Objects in the rearview mirror
are closer than they seem.
No dreadfully watered eye will see,
No badly stitched heart would know of need.
The heart doesn’t eat if the mind doesn’t feed.

Wrapped and laced in a spiders trap.
Veiled and encased in a foggy steel nap.
Dreams that seem to light the fuse,
Fighting the urge, fighting my muse.