it's kind of like antharax; vanity;
it's in the air in your eyes in your lungs in your walls

someone else put it there
you're breathing it in and you're not even aware
it's killing you, you know

and the only reason you're reading this now
is because something drew you in.
maybe it's because this is typewritten
...
hell knows if it were in my handwriting
you wouldn't have gotten past the third letter

but back to the killing
back to the dying

the vanity that someone has put in the air and is filling your lungs,
it's curable.
all you have to do is realize

;
this poem is not about you.