There is zero movement in the room, Only the air condition blows autumn. My mind gushing bubble form, Although my eyes lid closing soon. There is dirty laundry over one corner, Too full to spill any sooner. I recall the morning coversation louder, As it driven me to think further. Books and bags spread around ground, It takes skill to freely walk around. I could hear my heart hound, This ain't such simple as it sound. Hairs drop spread over table top, Waving for me to pick up. Is this a chance of fruitful crop? To tame my wild horse hope? Dirts are visible by the pink bed, Signs of cleaning in need. I suppose no harm to give it a try indeed, Not that I'm too bold to meet my dead.
Learn to write again.