Why is the burden of me bestowed onto others
Spun myself into a story of inferred
I never ask for it to occur
But the sediment of thought settle
And obscure the pure of heart for the good part
Of me, and me; disregarding I

The bad comes with good
And my great is another's story to persuade aside
As a tale of unwanted enactment
Paranoia, set with friends and their ghosts
For me to panic and ignore the most
Of what made me, into I

The tale of so-called wisdom
That I spin into the fable of "I"
An excuse to remind them of specific life
My disciplined story of a false knife
That never struck my good heart
But left with the purity I sought

My twist of dare is to compare
A time of my own felt wasted when forged
On the paper that clouds title;
"I".
A holy biography I do not end
Only mock to pray readers will come
Come to read words I never wrote
As I lie to the circle about the life "I" really lived