YS

"This Poet"

I swear this death's incredible
Taste of my blood, so edible
I'll make my impression last on you
Cause your last lover was forgettable

I wish I could come and touch your lips
Take you to heaven on my fingertips
Singing rock, being goth wearing Tribals
f*cking b*tches, Icing stitches, Burning bibles

This Poet has died
Remember the words and the tears that he cried

I've been gone for a long-long time now
Used to write poetry but I rhyme now
All the years that we spent are wasted
Getting attached to a b*tch is a crime now

So goodbye now, now I'm drinking
I've been drowning without sinking
I've been crying without blinking
I've been acting without thinking

Death of a poet it's a birth of a sinner
Losing myself yet they call me a winner
Death of a poet
Birth of a sinner
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