Tell me you don't love me and for you,
I am perfectly imperfect.
I will walk away from you; in that moment,
nothing will be left to regret.
Wherever the wind of loneliness takes me,
I will never try to come in your way.
Your thoughts will eat me like a termite
but in my heart, you will always stay.
I will harvest the feelings; my soul is going to
plant in the melancholic month of December.
I will put them into verse one after another,
quite not enough, for you to remember.
I will paint the smile on this empty face
for you to feel that I am happy and free.
When love kills, that pain is
beyond every measure, one cannot easily see.