𝗖𝗥𝗬𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗣𝗢𝗘𝗧𝗥𝗬

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When the poet starts to write,
Looks like the outcome didn’t ignite,
Words and ideas didn’t even unite,
I feel hopeless ’cause it’ll never catch your sight.

The poet’s blood of passion,
Pulling him back to his inspiration,
All his life—I’m his artful addiction,
But also his unhealthy distraction.

Because of me—the root of sadness,
Why he always end up making a poem of loveless,
Crying rhymes ’cause he fall out of words,
Feelings can’t even speak and remain unheard.

A broken poet can’t write without me,
But what can I do? I’m just a crying poetry,
His yearning heart will lose his soul of remedy,
Also because of that person—who made him as ‘the son of tragedy’.

-urlivingmerman

"Plagiarism is a C R I M E."

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