Despair, sweet mistress, could not be my muse
but kept me company until she came back.
Whipped me with self-contempt – I heard ribs crack
as she trod down my breasts with iron shoes.
I could not sing of failure had I won
or know deep beauty without good looks' loss.
Threw dice - Despair had rigged my every toss.
laughed at my empty purse, she thought it fun.
She promised much but proved to be a liar
I bit my tongue in pain when my ribs broke
I bled a while, tongue swollen. Then I spoke
new stronger verse. My muse and I conspire
laugh last at my sad love, left bleeding where
I tore out verses when I screwed Despair.