Poetry is dead
when you are not here
to write it in my heart
when your voice is too far away
to read it.

Poetry is dead
when your allure is feeding
strangers' souls on the streets
while I am here alone,
my soul starving.

Poetry is dead in all my being
I feel its ghost leaving my brains
I feel the emptiness inside
and I fear the days
when it will come haunt me
and I won't find a way
to write it.

Sleeping at night it's impossible
cause I hear a question screaming in my chest

When poetry is dead
is there anything out there
left
*alive?