Of Muses And Other Ghosts
Another Muse Goes To Waste
Well, that's my last empty page
and it's not right to my heart,
I fill it with you,
like the real poets do.
Me, I'm not a poet.
I'm a punk,
but I keep writing
because I'm afraid,
afraid of you,
that you might forget me
just like everybody else.
I don't want to end up
under a cross,
with no one to hold my hand...
Why is it still,
to say I love you,
when it's clear that you love me too.
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