The Humble Rock Dove

Don’t let a writer ruin your worth.

Don’t let words, get away with your breath.

Ego death: a form of masochistic treason,

Against your will,

So you can break it and move.

Write me, some poetry,

So we can become confused.

At the stars themselves,

And our movements.

I breathe out words,

And I hate every one.

They’re hidden in my chest,

Expelled by my lungs,

And the trigger is the tongue