The Lost Journal of a Mad Woman

Thee

—Thee—

You are the art,
that I write about
From every part,
I desire your heart.

How can someone like you,
call me pretty...
When I cannot even see,
my own beauty?

Constant thoughts of you,
will never be lame
Yet, just for us two,
it might somehow maim.

With my pen I bleed,
'tis I that you need
We might lose our lead,
but with you I'll hid.

I wonder about you often,
as if my heart had been stolen
Your arms had always been open,
every time my heart feels broken.

You were my obsession,
that suddenly turned into addiction
I can feel your careful motion,
drugging me with your love potion.

You gave me too much power,
that's enough for me to bloom like a flower
just like the clear blue water,
that's making me feel so much better.

You inspire my words,
and my heart takes flight.
With you, my creativity knows no bounds,
for you're the muse in my piece that surrounds.

I almost fell into the precipice,
not until I saw the moon eclipse
I thought I'll only have a glimpse,
but I recall you telling me how majestic it seems.

If God and fate would forbid,
then it is goodbye that I bid
I never did find the need,
for me to worsen the way you bleed.