At Last, The Muse Gets Real

(sonnet)  
Ungodly hell! You pick today to turn  
Your face and show your scaly lizard soul.  
Twenty-nine days you let your alter burn,  
And last day, Muse, my black heart you extol.  
 
Did I not please? Did I not offer well  
The guiling whispers of my desp’rate need?  
Did I not write the self you’d have me tell?  
But no, Lizard Muse, now you’d have me bleed.  
 
So hear, in clever verse my wants express,  
That life itself would never bring to me.  
I hide, in turn of phrase, my heart’s distress,  
That versely sate might end my misery.  
 
With poisoned heart you sought now at your feet,  
The cycle, Muse, let rest in peace - complete