and many have come before him.
But he's the only one who tried,
His sign is the twin.
He's tall, handsome and has a great laugh.
Buy my friends call him a riffraff.
From the start,
They tried to pull him apart.
My friends are artists,
They can cause art.
I have warned him,
And it was fine.
I was stupid,
I though he was mine.
Surely after it starts,
Life threw few of her darts.
Little did I know,
Little did I see coming.
The final scene,
The end of a dream.
Just like from ashes to ashes,
The end flashes.
Curtains don't fall,
It crashes.
And as we start,
We end.
From strangers, to lovers
To not even a friend.
It's just a phase,
and a phase it's not.
He's part of my story,
He is the main plot.
He's not a Mickey,
He's a Donald Duck.
Now you're reading this,
Thinking what the fuck.
This is a metaphor,
Of nothing left and nevermore.
Another sick poems of mine,
Assuring myself that everything is fine.
He wanted me to write more,
He knew he's going to be who I write for.
Not sure if this was his plan,
Not sure if this is revenge.
But I got nothing more,
Nothing to avenge.
I'll just write about cartoon characters.
and what may.
I didn't tell him I'm in his lines,
Maybe someday.
So for a long distorted poem this is coming to be.
This poem is not for you this poem is for me.