You make me feel so miserable.
But I can’t blame you for these feelings.
Because you don’t know about them.
You don’t even know I love you.

My light and will power is fading away.
Because she stole your heart without struggle.
A chosen one has claimed you.
And that chosen one is not me.

Giving you up is what I should do.
It’s hard, but you will never know.
Still I want to thank you, for being you.
Thank you for making me feel alive.

He calls her out when his imagination is used up,
then his ideas keep spawning, continuing nonstop.

Yet he can’t move his hands, they are paralyzed
from the touch of her hands; he feels hypnotized.

Her eyes are full of roaming oceans and thunder,
crushing small sailboats like a bloodthirsty hunter.

Her skin is gleaming in the veil of the silver moon,
reminding him of his first kiss with her back in June.

Her lips are covered in poison, like they were back then,
with a bare touch they can turn boys into grown up men.

Freckles are lightly strewn over her cheeks and nose,
smiling and blinking of all the little secrets she knows.

Her hair is chestnut brown with hints of flaming red,
dancing like fires in the reflection of the sun on top of her head.

The sky is trembling whenever she speaks a word,
sending shivers down his spine and making his vision blurred.

Whenever she takes a step the earth is loudly moaning,
making his ears on the very verge of exploding.

Her heart is a black hole storing mysterious crimes,
forgotten solar systems and corpses of ancient times.

Her soul is nowhere to be seen, it disappeared out of the blue,
making her a floating skeleton with something to pursue.

But when he takes the brush and pencil and begins to paint and write.
nothing ever happens; the canvas and paper still remain white.