Everything is changed
Everything that makes me
All my words are different now
The death of a poet
Is when his name is taken
Now mine slowly slips your mind
Who is the writer?
Who is the reader?
All is for nothing
Taken for granted
And the masked serpent
Slithers in enmity
But what if the prey strikes back
And reveals the face of pretense
Under the hood
What then, What now?
Would it fall and wither
Or continue its slither
And draw in another
Lost soul for the kill

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