I live with a pen and a paper,
Together with your words
Ain't leave empty.

But those words define the swords you left in my grave.
As sunset poking with an empty rays

Love might be beautiful.
But as for you,
It will never be the same.
Might as well end as trash

For you have plenty of shades,
But none paint your Love for me.
And ain't better.

How could I be the Queen in this game, when my king fight for another piece?

Ain't never be perfect,
Ain't never be Finish.

Because my pen and my paper
Never coincide with the ending,

Same as you and I never find its ending.


© Witheredscents