Michael Jackson Superstor Poem by Chrysostomos Tsiailis

Michael I 'm writing this letter to make you and me feel better,
a week's time was my childhood
and a month without you has been a bore,
but at least now they won't spit at you anymore.
Don't worry we will relive the 80s and 90s through our inner ear,
but the dream you had about white souls is no more,
it's left from here.
'That would have been it' but it turned into a nightmare
for white, grey, black and even without hair.
Do they really care about us? Imagine all the people
living in one color, ivory. Plastic truths will always be popular but this was a lie!
Music is your name, her middle name is you.
So don’t die on us! You cannot die!
You are a pro(se.) As of now I like music. You have been born again, the spotlight is on you once more. Never trust hearts. Who cares if you ‘re 50, we never liked numbers and you will always be divided by two. Black vs White, Us vs Them, nomentality. A fan was screaming gaily. The word funeral does not suit your name. You are rude, are you trying to steal a part of us? Well, you won't, and we will dine on the Moon soon. Elvis will be furious to meet you. Your voice is so child-like but I still love you. This is your first poster on my wall. Your name is a fixed expression. But never forget that the girl is dangerous. She is a smooth criminal. I hope our love didn't kill you.