I promised my diary.
I will only use black pen,
When I would write nice.
Slowly without rushing.
As the sentences with the speed of light going through my mind
I can not find my black pen.
As much my brain loves to think about today.
I can't write tonight.
I get up from my chair,
I'm throwing my words in the trash pack up my sentence.
I say the same thing anyway. Nothing change. Everything is the same.