You have a dark room and papers
and a bic
you have ink and it's beautiful
your tic.
Your pen writes
like you dance at a ball
you made a mistake with your pen
it caught the mistake.
It's black and white
but basically
you turn everything off but that applique still remains
br/>listen again
You write about me and I become
then you paint me with paints
I become I pretend
like actresses pretend
your mouth is dry
or the inkwell is dry
you plow a field and the seed is black
but it's January.
Take off that cap
the watch and then the bike
I heard a
but it was practically a
I heard a rustle
but it was the pillow on my face
there was a black hair of yours
dead, killed.< br/>It's black and white
but practically
turn everything off but
it still remains
that wall light
listen again
You have a dark room and sheets
and a bic
you have ink and it's beautiful
your tick.
Your pen writes like
dancing at a ball
you made a mistake your pen
has caught the foul.

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