You want to know
If you hurt my soul
If I sit and pine for you
Not sure why you're asking
Or why you care
Cuz I know you don't pine for me too
At least not in a normal way
Where you miss and long and wish to stay
You are such an attention queen
You want me to write you poetry
It seems to be
That you only like immortal me

Orwellian madness
became fashionably late,
thirty six years
from the original date.

Fiction is front page
and truth is just a stranger.
A platform subscription
with prevaricator entertainers.