Yet another tear falls on the crimson page, my heart in a prison is caged.
Can a poet be loved?
Is mine just the life of writing poems for other lovers and never have one written for me.
Are my writings not a reflection of what I wish could also happen to me. I long for affection, it has been long since I waited, along with such sadness I still have to wait longer for the already long awaited.
As my movie end, a black shade appears,  is it where it all ends for me?
Not even a preview of something better to come.
Shuttered are my hopes,  someone throw me the rope.
Sobbing has become my companion, days appearing longer and slower than a chameleon.
Only time can heal the wounds of my soul.
Can my heart take another heartbreak?