I want you to buy me
a red beret.
I can be yours.
It can be yours.
But I will wear us.
I’ll buy you a jumper
and vice
the verse.
I asked you
and myself
and I
how to be an artist?
I told them,
all you need is suffering
and a vision.
I feel a tremendous distance
between myself.
Not you.
But everything real.
Shockingly,
This is how I am supposed to feel.
Alive and real.
As true is false
I feel my pulse.
You are not a poet
if you are not me
and you are a cunt
but neither
am I.
I feel
as a creative hearse
dragging my body
through the verse.
Image credit: MikeCook1