I like to think of myself as a nice guy,
Perhaps maybe that’s a lie,
But let me give you a piece of advice,
If you don’t like what I do or say,
Then let me rot, in obscurity away.
Poems are like magic,
Power wrought not just from my pen,
But from every word seen and spoken again,
Truth or not,
It’s meaningless if left to rot.
So don’t call me out for my faults,
Infamy spreads like fire.