Like a bench beneath
the autumn leaves,
I stay where you left me
gathering time, not dust.

Like a ghost dressed
in memories,
you drift through the quiet
corners of my mind,
untouched but never absent.

Blade will never be blame
As the brain voluntarily permits
I can feel numbness in my skin
Ready for the sharpness

My thoughts would explode
Yet my flesh have no seem action
For my purpose benefits them
I will give in soon, real soon.

Dearest love,
I will not write another masterpiece
if it’s not all about you.