To the pills I taught myself to swallow,
To the realities I was forced to receive,
To the innocent child I was fated to outgrow,
And to my phases that I was asked to forgive,

I am grateful.

It is through you that I have become
The monster I needed to be...
Yet we’re still each other’s prey.

Though I can still see faces in the clouds,
Hear stories only silence can utter,

Have instant regrets of waking up,
And be lost in my own labyrinth,

I am grateful.

I hit the sack way too soon
Through the words of a lullaby.

Entangled with the dream coil,
I found my feet on a foreign soil.
With buildings all gray and sky even darker,
I could not scream nor could I even mutter.
Across the street was a familiar soul—
I was certain, for our eyes met once.
Yet I remained unmoved near a wellhole,
Even though it might be the only chance.

But there must be another way,
I shall ask or go astray.
Clouds now shared the skyscrapers' clothing,
And they led me to a place I found unwelcoming:
An acre of a hundred skeletons,
Guarded by ravens and briars' thorns.
It wasn't a graveyard nor was it a market,
But simply my chained, restricted closet.

All of a sudden, I was being chased,
And went to the woods with an instant regret.
With faltering knees and a heart too dazed,
I heard words I wished I could forget:
"I'm a nightmare cloaked in human skin,
Dwelling on where the light surrenders."
Then a light pierced through my nightly coffin;
Gently, I opened my peepers.

It's not a dream that most would recap,
But it was just enough to wake me up.

I have been writing poems
As if I am forging my own armor
Yet it seems that what I have made
Is more than just a hefty covering
But layers of sky-piercing barriers
And armies of unfamiliar soldiers
With their faces reflected in mine

Yet with all these defenses
It still won't be enough

For the words I bleed fail to nourish
The wise owl I aspire to become
And the weakest of the weak
Isn't invisible behind thick walls
Nor will he ever be invulnerable
To the crippling echoes from outside
And to the storms he sewed himself

But as I am doomed to break
I will always be bound to fall as well
Down the rabbit hole of poetry

After a 12-hour slumber,
I still hope it is the lack of sleep
That makes me weep.
It is so much better
Than being sad for no reason.
So yeah...
I hope it's just the lack of sleep.

I thought I was a night owl
And sunsets would excite me
I'd wait for the sun to falter
So I could fly alone in the sleeping city

Until one time
As the sunset began parading
I suddenly felt an urge to slumber
Without waiting for the moon's consent

Don't know what doesn't want me
To stay up late at night anymore
But whatever it is
It doesn't want me
To wake up in the morning either

I might be living the tragedy
Of someone who had
A happily ever after
In an entirely different story

And I had been thinking
About rewriting it through a reset
But doing so might make me forget

For we can never tell
If we are to become ghosts
With our memories still lingering on
Or only to be memories
Of others we have left behind

Either way, I am not ready
And I will never be

Jetpacks on, flap those wings with ease,
And aim beyond the outermost layer.
Zeppelins will do, or a blimp if you please –
You and I shall come across the moon chaser.

Any sound of silence can lead us straight to her.
I know it, for she's always been a familiar song,
Rewritten over and over,
As the diurnal storms prolong.

Moonlight shines the brightest on this day,
As its chaser was born a decade and eight ago.
Right now she paves her own way,
In hopes of surpassing the lunar halo.

She came from where the wildflowers grow,
Often surrounded by the people she needed.
Like an ocean, she was never shallow,
On land, her feet are always grounded.
May she become who she wants to be,
Once she reaches the moon's gravity.
Nevertheless, let us see her fly!