My hand becomes an instrument
To wrote what my heart’s meant
This paper become the channel
To communicate what I feel

Now, I know why I can’t tell
“I love you baby, its real”
‘Coz my heart has no mouth
So, the dream of my ***** is impossible to sprout

Pendulum of mine keeps on wasting
Pendulum of hers keeps ticking
Clock arguing with my emotion
But my emotion can’t become an action

I blame myself, striving this route
Pointed by innards of my chest
Way to murky or luminous fruit
End has treasure but I ain’t own the chest


Beneath of our horizontal breast
We can encounter the adepest,
Poem maker and Hider of cherish
Whom afraid it to unleash

Byline of this piece is not the author’s name
Assistant for making this is not the cognitive
It is created by the human’s greatest enem’
Whom always fails, to achieve what he wants to achieve