My dearest darling Poe,
Don't think me bold dear Sir,
for this daring, brazen hello.
I do not pretend
to be your friend
or even a near equal Thoreau.
A skinny juvenile girl,
a rather gritty pearl,
is all the shining glass
has ever led me to believe.
I am no lovely Annabelle Lee
no shining knight as he
that searched in sunshine and in shadow
for the land of El Dorado.
I somehow envy you,
you must truly think me mad,
I'm sure that I am one of few
that would ever be jealous of you,
the owner of a grisly life
if life it might be called.
I try to create a small world
inside my head all whirled
my own poetic tragic universe,
however it is false and despicable,
for I can not replicate true pain
especially not for selfish gain.
I love your poems more than myself
that sole collection up on my shelf.
Oh if i could have but one book
far one would not have to look,
for it would be that text of crystal clear
that one with the imprint of a shedded tear.
Let us switch, i'll be dead in my grave,
and you be a juvenile victim, society's slave.
-Pamplemousse
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