AUTOPSYCHOGRAPHY
The
poet is a pretender
Pretend
so completely
That
even pretends to be pain
The
pain that he really feels.
And
those who read what they write,
In
pain deals they feel good,
Not
the two he had,
But
only to what they do not have.
And
so on the wheel rails
Cute,
entertaining reason,
This
rope train
It's
called the heart.
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