I've already lost in that part that I badly wanted to part ways, and do writing
The way I slide the given pen of my mother, it's brightning
Doing this stuff-writing is kinda really tiring,
Seems the ink that I am using is now drying.

I keep on writing that pieces, an paper, and also another page of pieces paper
Who ask if it was really the paper that I am using or that damned cutter?
The aloud voice in my head pasted, it always stuttered.
They asked the paper, but no one ask, “How's my daughter?”

I realized that it was only one left pen
When I am in the edge of my young ten
Crowd are pleased with those achievements they've seen
It because I am pleasuring them when I am still a teen.

Forgive me if that given pen is lost,
It was time and memories that cost me much
I'll buy one again in the right side of a post
So I can write again, what I like and felt the most.
© mixaiel