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Its you this
time that's me.
Same name with
different faces.
And filling all
the empty spaces,
She acts like
no one I've ever seen.

Its me this
time that's you.
I take the blame
for changing places.
For pursuing all
the empty chases.
For not knowing
what you knew.

For making you
make me make
you feel blue.
In a Who's Who
of who hurts the worst
a bubble's just been burst.

And a whole new thirst
will chase the first.
Followed by another two.

Are you walking a mile in my shoes, or am I stumbling a yard in yours? I like this Joe. None of us knows who we really are. Not even the experts, and G-d knows there's enough of them around!
Byron 'sends his regards'.

I don't know Byron, but sometimes my legs sure
feel weak.
Thanks for the reply.
Its true, no of us can really know anything.
I don't even know if thats true.
Cheers-
Joe

~ Enjoyed your poem, Joe. Enjoyed your exchange, Byron and Joe.