What if it was fake?

He sticks the needle in at three,
injects himself with poetry.
Sends metaphors running through his veins,
hope they stay long enough to ease his pain.
Fills his pulse with lies, and rhymes, and songs
the words to help him lead her on.
And now he's so full of lovely lines,
that he no longer sees the signs.
He's coming towards his finals days,
and he squeaks this out, on his bed, he lays.
He says, "I'm leaving, child, i'll soon be gone."
and he departs, with one final song.
The song is short, the song is sweet.
it goes "I part for now, but again, we'll meet"
So Goodbye, my poet, my genius, my guide.
I'll forever wait, until I too, may die.
Because one day i'll be with you again,
but until that day, this is the end.
So I too will take my needle, here
and stick it in, my words endeared.
So I too have poems in my blood,
Goodbye my poet, for I am done.