Plagiarism

I hope that one day
when you attend the funeral of what could have been love
your  façade crumbles down.

I felt good
when I imagined this blue-and-yellow future
between rhythm, rhyme and whatever rumbles in your ear

But your dramatic lack of enlightement
has broken, not braked the storm
and its talkative eye emptied so soon.

You could have been my hero
I would have been your home, your castle
As sure as he can raise the dead
you could simply take place by my side
and tell me the next line.

Well, cowboy, that angel's mark is gone
I'm only somebody you should have known
but I will not return.

What's left in the end?
It's to wonder that I can take your words to express my thoughts
and that there is no such thing as

plagiarism.