Mirror, mirror on the wall
how many times do I still have to fall
how much pain must I take
how much smiles should I fake
with my heart at stake...

My story is a tragedy
written between the lines and the creases
words lost, somewhere in the confides of time and space itself

the paper is my skin,
bare and ****, warm to the touch
radiating heat and pulsating the residue of passion

the ink is of my own ,
brought forth by my raw emotion
tasting of salt and copper...

and somewhere in the background
, somewhere between the faint distinction of blood from tears
there my soul still lies in wait

My ending is not happy
nor marriage
nor fame

My cure is not love
nor is it the touch of lips
I have no happy ending..
instead, I end in an ellipse....