Staring through the glass I can see myself
In the glass all life and actions pass
I can see love pure and free
Like waves in an ocean these things pass before me
I can even see my own death
My corpse drained like a syringe
My thoughts and soul plunged into the veins of an addict
I hear yelling
"How can you sleep when there is more to think?"
"More to write?"
"More to drink?"
Is noone happy with quiet and peace?
Let this poet remain deceased
He spent his days screaming you don't understand
Now after he's gone, he lives in demand.
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