is it true you are in Love with a dead artist?
a formerly addicted musician?
a magnificent onyx crushed into dust?
heart beats pen poems within their echoes
filling the chambers with questions of why
there is an unspoken insanity about adoring the ethereal
it is asinine to long for ascension into a bliss the common doubts exists
in between the lines scribed are manifestations of their unique gifts
all were aware the nomenclature of status quo was indeed a prison
yes, i will confess my soul is entwined with freed genius and elevated magnificence
and so are my poems
is that thing still on?
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