Monday, May 9, 2011

Love Is Nothing But A Con

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before you wake up
from a deleted dream
your world is gone
first you were a poet
as a dickhead you
are metamorphosed
reborn pain as porn
the dusky dewy dawn
anguish lets out a yawn
stoic wooden and withdrawn

An imaginary figment of a beggar poets broken dreams and poetry of pain.. written on the tombstone of dead friendship..

without a muse poetry would be dead...with tears we keep the pain alive...even when she along with her consort uses the butchers knife...what has age got to do with poetic love...or human strife..





Thanks ...its first time in my life someone is writing poems on me ..I feel good ..

words embarked on
a soul of wood
feeling goody goody good
.

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