It feels so strange to just sit
Sit and write in the same paper with ink
It feels as if everything is just repeating
With only the paper blank to write a new print

The paper looks as if it is tempting
Tempting for me to write my new ache
It looks so desperate as if waiting
For the new story of longing to begin

A rose with thrones that the story started
Like a red beauty of unknown to roam the unchased
Behind the beauty stood the broken plant
That looked at the running enchantress with grimace

At the end where the pen reached
The paper that now holds the broken lead
Feels as if everything is just repeating
With the paper filled holding a new print



© Charchita