I’ve been receiving poems from an anonymous poet. 
So I sent him an email “Not that I don’t mind the poetry or anything, but I just happen to be curious about who you are and stuff. :)”
His reply:
I’m not usually this cryptic, but it’s my mood for today. And so
WHO AM I?
I am the wanderer
Skimming down the cyber byways, Information Superhighways
with all the other do-it-my-ways.
I am the poet.
Every night I take a blade of my own devising,
A shining edge
A well-placed point
And slice my vein, to watch the blood drip
drop
Drip onto the page and flow into ideas,
Or thoughts,
Or a doodle of a duck.
I am the lecher;
I sniff knickers and fondle bras, perving on panties.
My breath hangs heavy in the heated jungle of have-not.
When a hand pries between female thighs � that is me.
I have drowned myself in daubed deeds,
But then again � those are just dreams
Dark dreams
That I bury deep in fevered nights.
(edited out the rest because it was quite long)
Eek. Scary! 
