It was born small,
A drop of water in a tub of oil,
But the inevitable happened:
It grew,
It engulfed me,
Like an infinite sclera.

A distorted mirror,
Some part of me
Knew it was false,
But the tendrils of transformation
Restrained me, It hurt,
But it was also pure ecstasy.

Now I cannot reject its pleasure,
I now know who I am,
The tendrils guided me,
At a small cost of ignorant bliss,
I now know who I am,
I am Chelsea Krona.

I seek to achieve the escape,
This maze full of curls and whirls,
No light to see,
This Labyrinth provokes a sentiment,
A lack of home, a lack of belonging,
I seek to achieve liberty,
Yet here I lay,
In these monochrome streams,
Crying will only add to the flood.

I dream of flowers.

Nothing here is fatal,
Yet here most tears are shed,
Most cries become echos,
And the most pain is felt,
But there is no one here,
Except me.

I feel like I'm their piano,
They force silhouettes into my eyes,
And dark thoughts into my head,
It seems that liberation is the only option.

But this is my home,
I have been here forever,
I must not leave now,
The creation of these shadows,
Would all be for nothing.

There are so many coins.

But it doesn't change anything,
I'm staying in This Labyrinth,
Because the colour outside,
Is too much.

A

No good deed is left unpunished,
It seems I learned that the hard way,
I always thought that helping others was good,
That giving my possessions away for free,
Giving money away for free,
Was a good thing to do,

The best case scenario is,
They forget what you have done for them
But the much more common scenario is,
They punish you for it,
They spit on the worm,
They crush the fly,
They wipe away the dust,

But it has happened to them too,
The secret to winning is,
To hide how much you've lost,
I always wonder why they continue this act,
Despite having gone through it themselves,

But maybe I'm alone,
Maybe the reason why they spit on me,
Is because they haven't felt it themselves,
They have a lust for chaos,
A deep yearning for the misfortune of others,
But they would, of course, call it ardour,
To put it a good way,
As they do with everything

Goodbye

It always feels like I am bleeding,
Like I have been slashed multiple times,
And simply left here,
Effectively paralyzed,
My entire life dismissed,
As mere dust waiting to die,
And the world tells me,
With great clarity and force,
That I am powerless.

I asked two of my friends
"Would like to play with me?"
They both nodded quietly,
I asked mum and dad,
If we could play 'tag',
They both nodded quietly,
We soon fell into an argument,
I broke the tension,
"I'll just be the one who tags.",
They both nodded quietly,
But it fell apart once again,
I asked them: "Why?"
The response soon came,
"I never promised to play fair!"
I nodded quietly,