Craig...

Dear Craig
Dear Craig, I thought with heavy sigh
I'm afraid I must impress,
The muse is being a bitch tonight;
I'm liking her less and less.
"Is it too much?" I asked her then,
Scratching my head in vain.
"I simply need a way to go,
My plot is seeming lame."
She said nothing, sitting there,
Her glimmering shining self.
It made the words upon my page
Seem so much closer to filth.
I frowned at last, and waved her off
Not knowing else to do.
I guess tonight, me and my muse
Shall simply be through.

A note. I reckon poems need to rhyme, to some degree and still
No matter what I seem to try, I doubt mine ever will.
Which is why - You're the poet.