"Sick and tired here on my bed,
While you keep on running in my head,
How many tears do you think I've shed?
If tears were blood, probably, I'm dead,
And the ocean's not blue but red."

For this is a short poem,
Let's get to the point,
Before ink stopped on my ballpoint,
Still regretting it when I asked you hours ago,
"Me or her, who would you anoint? "
After that, you avoid.

Such a wrong question out of blue,
Made everything out of hue,
All the things we've been through,
Changed for worse without my clue,
For my question must be,
"Have you ever love somebody the way I love you? "