Confident, Oh Confidant

Ode to muse and the idea of you:

You are a figment of my imagination.
Sorry that had to come out, but someone
really had to tell you before things got weird.
You're not real.
I conjured you from ideas of how people should act
and speak
and appear
before my very eyes and under my eyelids
I stole you.
You're a ripoff of all the warmth and energy
a human can exhibit.
(but at least I get to keep you.)
The dialogue we have is but
perversions of memories of those departed
and departing
(mostly by train, but some bus too.)
often hurried, though there were enough who
took the time to say good bye.
You're potential.
The realization of bad dreams and day dreams,
you walk across my synapses and then crash land
onto the stage before me.
I, your director, edit your speech and demeanor in real time.
There are several takes,
you almost never get it right
but I appreciate your flexibility, obedience
(as if you had the choice.)

You do manage to get me in trouble sometimes --
leading me down rabbit holes I
can't escape without tracking dirt on my soles.
No one really appreciates the airing of dirty laundry,
even if that's what it takes to become clean.
But it's never really that easy, is it?
I rehearse with you, tweaking and shifting,
creating nuance until you are completely
and utterly unrecognizable.
(and mine.)