On all those nights that I can't sleep,
I don't bother counting on stars or sheep.
For I keep staring at the pitch dark blinds,
As I am too busy with the thoughts on my mind.
As I lay down in an ocean of memories,
I ask myself of what my presence really means.
I wrote love letters at hours like these,
Now I'm drowning in sorrow of all my deeds.
I cherished my feelings at this hour of time,
Now I accept my fate for I committed a crime.
On all those nights when my eyes are swelled,
I sew out with patience, a poet of myself.
