I wrote my wilted past on the old Rotten Papers of my Dairy.
There are some white ones too.
The Dairy may smell like withered nature and wet shiny soil.
Yet it's dark and Unbearably painful.
My sound walks in the brown garden are the moments I had spent with my beloved People.
But the sound the withered leaves gave, they are my cries as the people walked over Me.
I was the Fountain of Pure Water;
Satisfying the painful thirsts;
Helping people in their worst.
Yet they called me A Rotten 'Gay'.
Cursed me In every unpleasant Way.
Long is my Painful Journey, both Fresh and Flaccid.
Long is this; My unfinished Poem.
Becuase still remain are my White and Rotten Papers to write my Withered or Fresh Future.