Poetic Lies

it looks so noble
the fluid grasping of words
and emotion

there is something of the mystic
in the poet

the lookers on
admire
and envy
just a little

ignorance is bliss

the truth is
those words
were carved from the heart

the still thrumming heart

of that envied creature
and what goes on behind closed doors
is the feverish scrubbing
of hemorrhage

who is so smart
that cuts his heart to bits
and puts them on display?

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