A Tortured Artist,
had always suffered in the dark,
With a fractured heart that was never healed but
Filled with stitches of the scars from the past that lies within.
He never wanted to exist just to be thrown in a locked closet
under the Harvest moon of cold November.
He remembers the burned reminiscences
Of the broken promises and bitter mementos that sends him into
A downward spiral in the deepest darkest pits of the shadows.

He was promised love, and freedom.
Now he’s dead-
forgotten.
He now lives as the wisest artist.
Speaking and throwing ink with the
Rawest words of realism on the canvas of the coldest world.
It shapes the view of the dark Harvest Moon from a closet.

Without a shattered heart,
Or being locked in the dark closet,
how would an artist be inspired of art
if he’s not tortured in this coexisted world
That lies beneath the worst current events?

In my head,
it’s an escape room.
I wake up, stuck in a bathroom,
Each wall closing in on me.
Filled with mistakes
and regrets that make me fall.
Bittersweet memories and lost mementos
I hate-
A horrid melody put on repeat.
Each worst memory that I’ve replayed
Feels like a ****** mystery
To a broken scene.
Trying to figure out what happened.
Or if I did wrong in a relationship…

I’ve searched for hope…
Or the answer to it.
In the cracked mirror,
I see a broken self.
That self turns bitter and lonely,
Fading away in the shattered glass
As the time ticks slowly,
Wishing for the world to be better.
Each puzzle is a current problem
that yells and screams in my head.
Turning life into a living hell to solve.
The door won’t budge,
And I can’t find the key.
I keep thinking,
Wishing to be freed.
I get tired of it-
Trying to escape...
In the endless Escape Room…

Mirror mirror
On the wall,
Who’s the most shattered
of them all?
Aligned with the cracked glass,
I feel broken.
Each scar of self-harm
Leads to a line of tokens—
Every scratch and crack in the mirror
Is a symbol of self hate
that plagues my heart.
Soon to fall apart
And rot in the mirror…

Mirror mirror
On the wall,
Who’s the most fallen of them all?
Hidden and forgotten
in the dust of cobwebs
In your attic.
I ask for help,
But aligned with the smashed glass,
I feel stolen and trapped
Under the illusion of no hope—
Bruised and abused.
Left in confusion,
Losing people like flies,
Leaving shattered moments
in pieces scattered across the floor,
Only then I feel heartbroken.

Mirror mirror
On the wall,
What have I done wrong
To become aligned with
This broken mirror?

BEEP
Hey…
Um…
If you’re listening to this audio recording,
Um…
I wanted to say I miss you.
I haven’t seen or heard from you in a while, and…
I know what you're going through hurts you…
Um..
It’s ok to not be ok,
and I’m sorry that it hurts.
I really am.
But um…
I know everything will be ok and…
Well, I know that sounds cliche but
I'm not just saying this.
I know it will get better soon.
I want you to know you’re not alone.
Just don’t let go of hope, ok?
I love you…
*BEEP

There was a man who can see clearly.
Both the sunshine and darkness.
“Cut my eye that sees darkness.
I want to see the sunshine more”
The man said to the Doctor.
And so he did…
The man immediately left
to fulfill his destiny to be happy.
To only see the sunshine.

There was a man who can hear clearly.
“Cut one ear that hears pain so I can
Hear the joy and laughter once more!”
The man said to the Doctor.
And so he did…
The man leaves as he hears
the Illusions of laughter and joy.
But the man doesn’t know the confusion
that lies.

There was a man who can speak.
“Sow my mouth closed! I don’t want
The lost voices to sneak out!”
The man said to the Doctor.
And so he did.

Then there was a boy
Who has one eye,
One ear,
And a sewn mouth.
He grabs a piece of paper.
He writes
“Give me an eye that sees darkness,
And ear to hear the sorrow that follows,
And cut my mouth open so I may speak out…”

“Why?” The Doctor replied.
Then the boy writes:

“If the truth hurts.
Then kindness must be a lie.
And if I sit there silently with these lies and Illusions,
What would that do if we don’t take the time to embrace
The pain and bitter memories that lies beneath me?
To speak out the truth of that false love and joy
that we fake ourselves to cover the heart that bleeds,
instead of treating it properly?

And at the same time…
How can I write poetry with these
angels of the shadows that sings mellow songs
and tells tales of hope that
lies in the forest roads to the unknown, doctor?”

I hold a box of tissues.
I try to clean up a mind filled with issues.
A heart filled with wounds.
Rooms filled with abuse that intrudes.
To tell you the truth, they can’t be removed.
Then I lose myself.
But instead of sitting and
crying with tissues in my hands.
I choose to write my issues through
poems filled with words and rhymes
like Dr. Seuss to tell the truth from a wounded soul.
These tissues will not be enough to solve my issues.

I drink this tea.
I lost the voice in me.
I feel empty.
I can barely speak.
I’m lonely in my mind.
I’m losing time.
I hear the voice becoming hungry, having anxiety yelling at me.
My mind Turns into a Heavenly Hell.
So I write poetry to **** the voice silently
From within.
While I’m drinking my tea to get the
voice of me back so I may speak again.