Tonight you'll be in my poems
From my quill's blood, you will be summoned
On every blank paper I grab
Will be filled with words, those that are sad

I need not to hold the quill
Black bloods on the paper are already spilled
As if it has its own brain
As if it also felt my indescribable pain

The words as if wild animals being freed from cage
I couldn't stop them from spilling
Tonight you'll be in my poems
Not with the happy words but the saddest ones