Everyday different people like my poems,but do they know that we'll never meet and converse in real?

Every year I wish you happy birthday in my heart,even though I know you don't celebrate it.

Only real poets understand my work- said everyone

But my love, nobody is meant to be as depressed as you are.*


            Then why do they continue      
             To write when I can't.
             I lack inspiration but they don't.
             I hardly like their posts,when I exist within their reality.
           let my heart be depressed
           With their art.

Express with me
Breathe less with me
Undress with me
Make a mess of me

Break me
Make me
Take from me
Do anything but ache for me

Leave me
Deceive me
Free me
Do anything but be with me