Reminiscing back to those moist pages in my diary,
Secrets of my bittersweet life, some of the things that are better left unsaid,
All those inks I wasted and the words that were engraved with a sharpie,
Those are just some tacenda I kept isolated.

I turn that page over and skim through those wasted poems.
It was a city of cursed dilemma and cackling dooms,
I would never know why I was left out on my porch all alone,
Looking out for the promises and pledges done to me?
They asked the reason behind my salty tears,
While I remained mute, some things are just better left unsaid.

When the rain fell, the blood from my finger rinsed onto the street, ...