Do you ever wonder
if it’s you who made me write this?
When I speak of ringing ears,
do you think you are my tinnitus?
Do you think yourself a special one?
A snowflake or a rose?
Someone special, something wonderful,
deserving of my prose?
The people that I write about,
do you speculate of whom?
Is your head enlargened large enough
to think that it is you?