I counted each ache my heart had, and every time the cement of poetry filled the crack.
While the walls of emotions make me weak, I couldn't find a proper place to sneak.
I kept falling asleep on the ground, counting the stars and emptiness all around.
Metaphors abandoned me, but I couldn't help, and on the deathbed for my body, my verses asked for some more breaths.
The demon denied and snatched my ink. We all struggled together pen, page, and the poems to which I link.
Pleaded time to complete my story, but little did I know was I putting my verses in jeopardy.
Even though the battled heart couldn’t win, the fight still claims the honor of my sin.