Two lovers
Chasing each other in circles
Able to meet
At a nonexistent corner

With blade as her plume
Her blood as her ink
Her skin as her paper
She scribbled cuts
Instead of letters
She writes a mail
Of torment and misery
Across her wrist
To those person she loved truly
But it seems the mail
Will remain unsent
For she decides to hide
And alone she bled

It's healing
But it leaves a mark
A scar that reminds me
How weak I've become

The moon glistens,
A lullaby had creeped,
Inveigles me to sleep
with my eyes open.