poetry is dead
it comes alive
dies right before our eyes
we write
talk of it
we bury it inside our heads

poetry is a ghost
haunting us awake
stuck inside our brains
lingering in our bedsheets
I smell its scent on my pillow

poetry died
I watched it crumble
I saw it's last breath
I knew it was the end

poetry
is deadly

we imagined
poetry was everlasting life

poetry is death

a thought
a feeling
a person
a time
a place
an object

we pull from our hearts

into this burning flame

it glows
it prevails

once our eyes touch the last word

breathing it's
last goodbye

hoping for someone to pass by
stealing a sharp breath of air

the words are gone
lights out

poetry is dead
rest in peace