The Forgotten Poet

I am the poet, the drunk and the madman, the junkie of the soul you have borrowed it is my collapse that you witnessed it is my arise that you see in this book here with thee Gone the disgust, gone the disguise Just look at at the stars and forget my scars What remains in this embrace is the grace, even the grace of a single phrase I am still the poet, but no longer drunken or mad You remain the junkie of my eternal soul You might be a poet, or might be not yet Your only difference with me, is that death, did not catch you yet Gone the disgust, gone the disguise Just look at at the stars and forget my scars What remains in this embrace is the grace the grace of even this single embrace You might even be, the single one to read me but yet I survived in this piece of paper which might be seen in the future so paper does have a memory Gone the disgust, gone the disguise Just look at at the stars and forget my scars What remains might only be, the grace of my embrace with the paper