It breaks my heart to see those cuts,
The crosses and marks just deeply hurts,
The white new pages on whom i write,
The red pen strikes to make it bright.
My sir tells me that i just mess,
And i wonder to make it fresh.
The red strike outs just make me mad,
They make me to think, they make me so sad.
The strikes are good, the crosses are well,
My mind tells me, to just go to hell,
Why am i weak, in writing and all,
The crosses make me trod, slip and fall.
I wonder just, how to be better,
My lazy mind, just tells me too later,
To drown into studies, and swim and sail,
If i do such, i won't ever fail.
- © ANURAG