Too Real Poem by Igor Wolfson

'I hear you, spring, come over here',
I cry without a single tear.
I sit here with by lager beer
And I write

I know I might not even get near
To see the next season of year
If things go on like that, that spear
In me, won't get the fight

And on you'll go, and I will listen
And rot inside while no one cares
Cause that's the thing this time. That time I missed it
But now I am prepared

And the beer is drunk and I know how it feels
I was the one who sometimes kneels
Before your shadows awe and reads
Your death notes... They become too real, too real, too real