I'm running out of pages in this little spiral notebook of mine. Where I write down poems, my feelings, and things I dislike about the world.

There's a million thoughts but only 70 sheets of paper and a pencil that's going dull and only 10 fingers that's now starting to cramp.

The lines in this spiral notebook reminds me of the distance between us both mentality and physically. How we've drifted away from each other and think about times that we now can't take back.

I'm running out of pages in this spiral notebook of mine, and it's tearing apart slowly, like me, knowing the fact that you're not next to me but I always imagined that you were. I always imagined how everything would be if you were still here, if we were still talking to each other and never even stopped. I can't help but think if we would've worked out or not.

I'm running out of pages in this spiral notebook of mine and I'm counting every line to past the time waiting to see when you'll finally be mine because you're the only thing on this Earth that makes my heart divine.

I'm running out of pages in this spiral notebook of mine that holds every Rhyme, and every single cry that were as silent as the birds in late Fall and no one could hear them at all.

I'm running out of pages in this spir-