AUTOPSYCOGRAPHY (FERNANDO PESSOA)

The poet is a faker.
His faking is so real

That he even fakes that is pain,
The pain he truly feels.

And those who read his writings
In the read pain they feel
Not the two pains that were his,
But only the one that is not theirs.

And so in its little tracks

Runs, to entertain reason,
That clockwork train
The thing that is called the heart

(Fernando Pessoa, himself)