you don't exist when
my eyes are open
you don't exist when
my blood's not poisoned
when my soul's at peace
when my gut is full
and when I'm in company
So you exist most of the time
dear muse
you exist most of the time
Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.
Daydreaming as a profession 
The muse is a terrible Mistress. She is so demanding. Nice poem.
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Oh, you said it, my friend. You said it!
( ๑>ᴗ<๑ )
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