canvas and brushes on the floor,
trying to paint the promises you swore
but i can't seem to find the perfect colors.
trying to blend everything for hours.

different shades on a ***** palette.
different hues on a warm jacket.
nothing seems to fit right
but i still tried covering it with white.

hoping it will be beautiful again,
i sighed and drink my champagne.
i'm still hoping though the result's quite obvious.
stared at other's pieces and now i'm envious.

the life i've been trying to live
was all a lie, i believe
i gave all i could give
but in the end, i'm the one who grieved.

she's a poet —  
whose soul is a mystery  
and is full of loneliness.

she's a poet —
whose mind is overflowing with ethereal beauty of words
and mellifluous screams of agony .                                        

she's a poet —  
who uses tears as her ink
and scarred skin as her crumpled paper.

she's a poet —    
who weaves majestic metaphors
and sails through her ocean of thoughts.

she's a poet —  
who sits at a dark corner of the room  
and cried into poetry by her tears that are made of ink.

hey, i dreamt of you last night
and it felt so real.
you're like a star
that shines so bright in a vast sky
and the only thing i wished to be
is for you to be with me.
i may not be a great poet like Shakespeare —
but please do take care of my heart.