Poets are only journalists lost in translation. You say that I’m being mawkish, sentimental
Too sensitive, soft, weak. But it is the truth and only the truth that I’m in pain.
It is fact- I am trying to tell you what I know of myself and what I don’t.
There is a feeling in my chest like my vomit is reaching itself up my
Throat- Clutch at straws and I can’t see or breathe or speak
I’m sorry, I’m screaming, I don’t know what else to do.
It is the truth and only the truth that I’m in pain.
I’m not writing because the truth is beautiful
But this is the only way I can get the fact
Across, succinctly, in good lights,
Without cheap cigarettes
Without tears
Safely.
絶望ヒーロー 