Inking emotions

These aren't plain verbose,

But string of emotions,

Stitched together by needle-thread;

Of my passion and notions.

You know what feeds me?

Writing out my homeless thought.

What definitely keeps me going,

Is this sip of coffee: tough and hot.

So address me as dead when,

I breathe but don't pen.

Because of course my soul,

Mind must be dead by then.

Let alone this piece of paper,

Remember my long lost name.

When I shall be sleeping

Peacefully in my grave.

I fear when my bones

Shall be unfortunately rotten,

Sure I am, as I

Shall be quite forgotten.