And such luck, his old compass finally gives up on him.
Much fate, I am no different,
Stuck with dead dreams, out of inspiration, heading nowhere,
I don't see reasons to lift the scribbling pencil once more.
Oh, is she going to read this? How about the others? Did she already?
Or, is she, like the old compass, already long gone?
Just that some nights, it is terribly hard to endure.
Why? Don't bother.
I try again.
Deep slumber chamber