So Im alive, But I died a little inside. Because I am dead And now alive and reborn Into a thousand words never written, I will become no one again. Did you metaphorically cry? Sad as thinking how well You truly knew me?
" But we were poets!"
And so you live and die by the Stroke of the passionate lie That are the words that well Up inside like a brutal indignity, Outraged at my shamelessness Did I ever truly puncture your heart? I am Ded inside, And I dont know you, But I just love your poetry!
So we sever the ties from reality And divorce the facts In a hopeful serenade to the deaf, See how I magnify the ignorance With brazeness? Such splendid grandoisity! And a poem is just a word, There is no poem without action. I am me, No metaphor needed, Just who the hell do you think You are?