Simon Stephens 

Do you remember when that famous old writer

told me my poems were written

with a big old aching heart

and everything I would touch

would soon be torn apart?

Well, I’m beginning to think he was right.

I’m even starting to believe 

he could see my future 

between those page lines,

drawn out in my blood.

Do you remember how you used to say

I felt no love?

Or how I grew cold

as the weather changed?

Well, at last it seems, we’ve found someone to blame.

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