Once, we took our pens to cut our throats,
Spill our blood onto the kitchen tile,
So that we could write poetry with our toes,
And allow us the chance to finally be free,
That we might die die die to feel alive.
But publicity makes all of us turncoats,
And all those stupid posts’ve gone viral,
As it starts isn’t how it always goes,
And I need to wear a mask to be seen,
While you take and take and take to thrive.
I’ll remember you and your lovely note,
About how we need some time awhile,
How a little fame doesn’t change the show,
And loving me is all you really need,
Though I know now all you’ve done is lie lie lie.
Prompt: from the kind writers over at the pub, dVerse, “French Literature” as part of their Poetics Series, celebrating the French style of Rima Dissolutas.