This Poet You Call Poe
I fear the whispers feed my mind
They tell me what to say
For me the light is hard to find
I wasn't born this way
I hear and see those things long gone
They help me with my craft
Sometimes I write from dusk 'til dawn
To get the perfect draft
Sorrows stir within my veins
As words begin to bleed
No one tries to heal my pains
So darkness intercedes
A spirit torn without repair
A curse upon this earth
Severed from the things you share
No more than afterbirth
A poet with no will to live
I care not where I go
I've suffered more than I can give
This poet you call Poe
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