This frail hearted poet clutches a worn old notebook to her chest
It’s bursting open with pictures, receipts, and drawings
A hodgepodge of clutter and madness
Glued together with hopes and tears
Sentimental, far too many memories to count
And a far too cluttered mind to recall
So every second matters
The frail hearted poet screams, the dreams won’t let her rest,
This person she trusted only used her as a plaything
Heart wrenched with sadness
Stitched together with hopes and tears
The scribe of Cupid remains alone again
She knew the risk of “the thrilling fall”
So in her old worn notebook
Parts of a heart in shards