Only the poet knows the true intonation of his words.
Each similie, each metaphor, each personification
so carefully mapped out, to signify something
within the depths of his soul.
I'm chewing on an Oompa candy, thinking back
to the day I became a poet.
Hearing your voice on the other end after so many
days of internal mass hysteria
forced the fakeness out of me.
Only I knew the true meaning of my pitch.
And I hit a note as sour
as the grape-flavoured candy in my mouth.
A/N: Shares pretty much the same meaning in content as "Stageplay". It's about the same friend. Also, this was written after I discovered the genius that's Jim Carroll. Leave your mark please, thanks.