We poets are scavengers
We survive on rotting memories,
Feed upon dying hearts,
Thrive on shedding tears.

For us, people are muse;
A potential poem.
A terrible heartbreak.
A cliched forever.
An unsent letter.
A living art.
A raging war.

Half human, Half stitches
Half melancholy, Half poetry
A sound of wreckage
A blasphemy.
Our mind, an accident prone area.

The surviving world,
The scavenger poets.
The perfect world,
The imperfect poets.

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