May paper be your canvas,
And a pen your tool,
But not your tender skin,
And a ****** blade

I never knew what love truly meant,
Until I met you,
You with your deep brown eyes,
Yet you were forever to be distant from me,

I never knew I'd be plated with resent,
Until I met you,
You with someone else - that made me cry,
But, I suppose, everyone's better than
me,

I never knew what love truly meant,
I was only told not to love someone like you,
You, who will never love me,
And I will always be second best

And so the boy wept,
Not due to the fact that she would never be his,
Not because his love would never kept,
But because he would never be what she wanted,

He could learn to stop crying and forget,
But her eyes will forever be a painted image in his mind,
And nothing would be remembered through regret,
For he had given everything to her and left nothing for himself