Poetry being
Being dead
It is not art that imitates life
It is life
That imitates the brain dead words
No wonder no ones heart can beat
The same way as before
No mind
The mainstream
Found its way to drown us all

You know who you are
But
I don't
Think that you know
Who you are
Its only what you're told
And feeling good feels good
So **** the cost
And **** the art