I will not write for you.
I will be the complication of the barren.
I will not write for you,
Although I write for you and only you.
The skin, like paper, it tears.
The blood, like oil, doesn't mix with water.
You are the water,
You are the solvent that cleanses my paint.
You ruin my darkest imagination and smudge the sublime.
I will not write for you.
You will write for me.
I will write for you because I can't write for anyone else.
The glass, like canvas, warps under the pressure.
The fingers, like caverns, bombard the crystalline foreground.
You are the sea,
You are the rain,
You are the foam that swallows me whole.
From then on, nothing was the same.
From then on, you looked past me.
I faded again.
I feel ashamed.
Where has enlightenment gone?
Where is my heart when it is all wrong?
But ... one day you'll be able to explain it.
I have no choice but to keep writing for you.
My hands are tied.