Remember me as I am,
The rose with no thorns.
A blackened and broken flower,
nothing else but a faded memory
a memorial of a forgotten poet.
I got lost amongst the muses,
and their noses and nods.
I became the muse amongst the musing,
the poets and their word play.
I became the poetic vein,
a bleeder of poetic format,
a sinner to my muses.
A poets whisper on old paper,
untouched, unchanged, forgotten over time.
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