She made me a poet.

thanks to the crush i met
i took her as an idol to pet
she got every reason to love
so i made myself a rag
to adore who was not mine
and i became a poet

we met in a club night
on her dress tight
that looked beautiful at sight
she made a night promise
and i failed to notice
that her intention was never to love
she played with my feeling
and i became a poet.

i wrote her lines to read
wasted words of good breed
the massage was sent,
but never reached her ears
so i sent my feeling again
hoping one day she'll find time to hear
i'm left lame and insane too
though i still give thanks
she made me a poet.

I am in that dream again, in the bathtub
Walking in an illusion of face you left unnoticed
U threw up cold and made silent love
The blurred body I touched left mist on my palms
I curled my figures nicely not to get loss of your scent
But it’s still a dream, which only comes at night
Comes with its plumes, I adorn it dearly
In the morning I found my heart stolen
And you are now dragging it through hell
Playing a game you never started, only if you knew;

I am burning a life, melting in an unattainable love
Your look comes and goes and leaves a portrait
I wish I had an easel, I would paint it_
Your figure is the ghost that haunts me
Your blond hair overlaps show your fatal attractiveness
My body is a living dead, with no heart to love
Walking in dark to watch over a girl I will never have
I’m still cursing the day I met you
And feel like plucking my eyes off, not to see you again
But your face will remain painted in my ways.