With my pen and words,
I could paint the world on a page.
But just as the setting sun,
The inspiration fades away,
My thoughts begin to hurt,
As the words bring pain to my head,
My pen becomes heavy,
Just as my heart before it began to bleed.
As I grow older it will get better,
This I was told because time heals all,
Yes! I will grow up,
No! It won't get better,
Because you're my muse and you're not there.