So Im alive,
But I died a little inside.
Because I am dead
And now alive and reborn
Into a thousand words never written,
I will become no one again.
Did you metaphorically cry?
Sad as thinking how well
You truly knew me?

" But we were poets!"

And so you live and die by the
Stroke of the passionate lie
That are the words that well
Up inside like a brutal indignity,
Outraged at my shamelessness
Did I ever truly puncture your heart?
I am Ded inside,
And I dont know you,
But I just love your poetry!

So we sever the ties from reality
And divorce the facts
In a hopeful serenade to the deaf,
See how I magnify the ignorance
With brazeness?
Such splendid grandoisity!
And a poem is just a word,
There is no poem without action.
I am me,
No metaphor needed,
Just who the hell do you think
You are?

Okay,*
So you just-
Go around spreading hate
and whatever you feel *inside.
Go around stealing light
and dulling the shines,

of every happy soul that,
couldn't go to that
dark place
you hide.

I wish I didn't see that
You could not believe that
Inside me burns
all my past lives

Oh yeah,
but it's okay you will learn some day,
the worst you fear is surely on its way
I will never bend
or give in
with my ways

**All that is good lives to die some other day.