Dear diary it's been a while,
This time has gotten senile,
Or is it just my wrinkled heart,
Who has forgotten how to smile?
Yellow are your pages like autumn leaves,
Or are they my shattered selves?
Forgotten and torn by time's cruel hands.
My verses omitted by that trespassing teardrop,
My ink dried with those dried-up petals,
Hiccuping laughter seldom emerges,
When I read those eventful pages,
Then overlapping cries fill the eyes,
These tales shall not repeat, as I realise.
All I think now is did I have all these emotions in vain?
Why is happiness memento mori and all reigning is only pain?
Dear diary, O my dearest friend,
Tell me how this situation should I comprehend?
Such vast oceans lay barren in this self,
Such darkness and void stored within,
Where shall I take these, who would share?
This being on the verge of insanity who shall bear?
None, for none, shall ever be as faithful as thee,
So you shall be the bearer of my heart, dear diary.
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