Ink
In memory of the hero who was killed by his pen:
The waves of the sea swallowed me
Just like how I was swallowed by reality
That I could never ever be you
What you did, I couldn't do.
All I have are words, more spoken than written
Miserably miserable I don't have your pen-
The same one that had planted bullets in your heart
And that scene is one hell of an art.
Yet the sea whispered things so beautiful-
Things written in their shades of cool,
That I, too, can act out of love
And write with ink out of my own blood.
The waves of the sea swallowed me
Just like how I was swallowed by reality
That I could never ever be you
What you did, I couldn't do.
All I have are words, more spoken than written
Miserably miserable I don't have your pen-
The same one that had planted bullets in your heart
And that scene is one hell of an art.
Yet the sea whispered things so beautiful-
Things written in their shades of cool,
That I, too, can act out of love
And write with ink out of my own blood.
Comments
Post a Comment