You’re taking away something that’s not yours,

For robbery isn’t just about money and jewelry.

She can still feel your hand on her back,

She can retrace your fingers on her remains,

For death’s not only a burial.

And as she reminisces, she can recall a peaceful little girl…

Some things are meant to change,

But others are not.

Robbery’s not only about money and jewelry,

For there are no words to claim how cursed and doomed it is to break into one’s apartment and instead of robbing money or jewelry, you rob diaries, photographs, and keepsakes.

What you took away goes beyond the dear keepsakes…

Stuck in a labyrinth; none can fathom.

You left ghosts and devils around. 

A head without a body,

A body without a head.

My dear,

I shan’t call you “my dear,” that’s only for poetry’s sake.

My dear,

-No, I’m sorry I can’t do that-

You have taken all the dears away from me.

A running little figure heading to the river,

Solemn chants away in the woods,

Witches imploring angels for a little girl…

No potion’s a remedy,

You’ve stolen all the secret ingredients.

And the fingers,

Stay etched on her back;

No potion can deny that.

Filthy hands,

Long filthy hands…

Inviting death to a vibrant corpse.

You buried all the fireflies and condemned the innocent reveries.

After all, some things don’t really change;

Just like the fact that you’ve taken away what was never yours.

My dear,

-only for poetry’s sake-

I have no words to turn into a poem,

I have no reality to change,

No color to adjust,

No music to create,

For even the witches have cursed your deed.

Robbery cannot be turned into art…

You’ve stolen the photographs and I cannot turn that into a metaphor.

You’ve robbed the diaries and I cannot write hyperboles about that.

You’ve stolen the keepsakes and this too; I shall not transform into a euphemism.

I’m sorry to say,

But the truth remains the only everlasting art,

Robbery’s not only about money and jewelry.