You write, you dream, you paint her face,
But words won’t earn a lover’s grace.
What a pitiful way —
It isn’t your day.
More and more,
You wait,
For the one tied to your fate.
Then comes your hate,
For the ones where you made mistakes.
Mistakes of your life,
Mistakes for your life.
Yes, you were kind,
In her heart, in her mind.
Alike or not, the faces were nine:
One with a knife,
Two were blind,
One struck three times with the knife.
Two were on site,
Three — undercover police,
Four unknown, dressed in white,
Two recorded the tale of that night.
This is your poem’s rhyme —
Yeah, you didn’t pay much mind.
