I'd lie still, hidden under the spiral notebook.
the words we're written like it was undone.
and the second part was perpetualy beautiful.
a never-ending story that was never told from outside this curtains.
bitter and sweet but never doleful.
i'd talk to somebody but they will never hear the words.
it dances on the tip of my fingers and they will never see.
almost dead past but nothing is brighter than that.
such artwork to unfold the meaning.
my scribbles explains my thoughts and my poem explains my world.
