I will let you live in Every stanzas of my poems. Until you lost your breath In my real world.
People will read and, Learn to love you. They will ask who is this I define in my every word.
You want to tell them Who you are but you realized, You were shut there, Lonely, in that space.
Then you will start to hate me For burying you to deep, But dear, in every bruise and Ache you caused to me, You just don't know You are already digging And living in your own grave.
This is part A for The Sad Thing about being a Poem.