The Death Of This Character Poem by Leon Moon

I will always ask:

What have I missed out on?

Of course (the girl I imagine reading is sitting on a train, on a red seat with occasional lighter coloured but bolder straight lines which to me serve as the reminder of how much I detest the texture of the body they compose but now I realise how amazing it is for we have finally got here and you write about me as if I once lived as yourself, she wears glasses, has brown hair, and totally adores me, I just sat next to her but lost her after getting off due to necessity for mother, she had a boyfriend anyway, I was already dead - when were you last star struck? ... reach for me, you know how)the javelin is direction of symbol:
I hate being discovered, but it's why I live,
Since I was a child (why must we always reach back, as if we never tried to move forward? If I saw myself, I'd probably cough up blood, yawn or masturbate)I have been the founder of all the poets,
And not in the way you think:
Of course, I say this, as if I was to die,
Please ignore the colon:
She is the restriction of winter in the bountiful melody too simplistic to disguise as numeracy in bloom; I wish we were together, so preserve my death
And defy all expectation; isn't it obvious'? ' - Satan fell in love; we all fell in him;
Too smart for my own good, I always
Rubbed against what I pushed down
And there was always a sexual connotation, but it was mine, no one else
Was ever involved, and so it was God's,
For Satan only rises for himself, not for me, the future I always imagined involved me, I enjoyed sacrificing myself for a reason I created to be loved by all,
I will not mention his name for I know him,
As soon as I die I'm as good as living,
Without the irony:
Soon I will leave prematurity,
The prelude of recorded destiny,
Embarking on touching what no man has,
All before I turn seventeen — what ever
That means! ...I guess we all have loved.
Just a thought, is there a enough transvestite to transform castration,
For nature to reveal herself as a man?
Not now anyway, for in the age of seven
I will discover every necessity for death,
Meaning I will have touched the crevice
Which god could only have dreamed of,
This is god himself, as you all know,
Until I told you: After this, after I Alone
Have stood at the end of the universe
And created another one without the need
To rehearse or rejoice, I will find starvation
And include in the eight the rest of the comrades
Of which all the other poets
Seemed to have precluded from their choice — either that, or the obvious:
That I, and, honestly, only I
Have lived — and loved,
But this must have been before,
For living is the I at last reflected,
Seeing itself, but its seeing is now not
Itself: eternal love acts as if
You actually had the will to create it.
If you feel sadness, it is enslavement.—
Save me.