she likes to queue her pens
just to grab in her fist as her reassurance
she discovers that her passion
was in writing
as she diligently dances with the pen in her fist
she blended the words
with the mixed hot & cold ingredients
as her main menu
to mask from her past burn
and mirror it on the wall
she knows as lovesick girls
as she falls in loves deeply
with the word "past"
while her mind struggling to hide it
from letting her to write about it
the sound of whispering
in her insomnia
that conquers her anxiety mind
tangled her with red strings
to destined on the paper
that she used to always write
but the guard has her up
with all the noises that she heard
to give up on writing
and drunk the past
with the needle on her mindshe hurts
through the journey of her writing
but the passion keeps her alive
