Confessions of an unknown poet

Each night,
I lie myself to sleep,
delusions of grandeur
deceiving the senses.
I veil my insecurities
behind words that please.

Hypocrisy. Jealousy. Apathy.
Reality hammers on these
makeshift defenses
guarding my weak psyche.
Negativity begets negativity.
No minstrel will sing
when an unknown poet dies.

Listen. Understand. Accept.

A comfort zone is
a fortress with a bad view.
Look for new sensations.
Give in to temptations.
Buddha was not born in a castle.

Why blame the universe?
Why dump my mistakes
on someone's front lawn?
The world is overflowing
with unclaimed trash.
I will not add mine.

I chased time and lost.
Some days, we walk together.
On most days, I follow.

Cry when you want to.
Don't stifle that sob.
The ghosts of dead tears
linger, and anger is born.

It's because we
don't scream that our
thoughts will kill us.

Late nights at the cafe.
Spilled ink, crumpled paper
and half drunk coffee.
I romanticise my life-
a 3AM melancholy story
reeking of booze and cigarettes.

Only worthy poets suffer
and starve in loneliness.

I am worthy.

I believe in lies
masquerading as
self-love and confidence.
We dance to the cry of
Wagner's Valkyries.

Confessions are cathartic.
Word by word, I spill truth
on these blank pages and
absolve me from my sins.
In the throes of deathly silence,
I am the unknown poet
redeeming his soul.

-------- X --------


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