My writings are so poor
Because each tym l try to direct my pen towards my brain where political chaos reigns,
It leaves me at my heart's doorstep where you reside with all your egotistical summer rains.

My hand is ready to sribble the nation is lost but my ink dilligently spells lm lost without you.
Its a battle on paper as l try to diverge from our love lost tale to scrawl about that recent unorganized shameful coup.

My...