Not me
Ive been tampered with...me, my soul, my heart
so lonely, so bitter
so not me, is me,
tampered me...
me, my soul, my heart
so bright, so happy
is me, so not me
not now, cause this is me,
tampered me
Not me
Ive been tampered with...Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.
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