Autopsychography
by Fernando Pessoa (himself)
 The poet is a faker
 Who’s so good at his act
 He even fakes the pain
 Of pain he feels in fact.
 And those who read his words
 Will feel in what he wrote
 Neither of the pains he has
 But just the one they don’t.
 And so around its track
 This thing called the heart winds,
 A little clockwork train
 To entertain our minds.
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