I,
The Sage fool,
Am trapped
in a birdcage
Of lies,
Aged away
in this wooden
stage,
left to decay
As I entertain
The ones who complain,
The ones who don’t know
When the curtains close,
I go into rage—
Because I can’t get help
When I hate myself.

Memories inked
in bleeding words,
Filling every page,
Ready to fleet away.
A chapter of stories I keep,
hidden deep in the
basement mind,
worsened everyday
With unkind echoes
As I listened.

While I,
The Wise Fool,
Forced to wear
A fool’s masked grin
to deceive,
To hide what’s real in me—
Like a trick up my sleeve.
Used my talent
To inspire the
ignorant—
They **** my hope,
Shove a bitter
pill of judgement
down my throat
To keep me on silence,
Yet I still stand.

I am the fool,
The entertainment,
I am the sage,
A wisdom they fear
but never lamented.

I’m the fool
With a smile,
But throughout
my wise miles
I played their games,
My wisdom blazes in
their mocking flames.

It’s so tragic—
The Sleepy boy turns into a Sick Boy,
He vanished just like magic.
The clock ticks,
Locked up in bed with chains,
Almost dead in his head with
toxic coughs and sneezes that clogs
His heart that shiver cold chills down his spine.
Eating some blue,
yellow and purple pills on Friday
just to ease the pain,
But the migraine misfits
Kept cutting the wires and killin’ his brain,
makin’ him brain-dead tired at home.
Meanwhile
I’m sitting here against the window alone
in the unknown,
With one empty brown chair across,
Writing a poem to the Sleepy Boy
who’s gone.

So if you’re readin’ this,
Hope you feel better,
Sleepy Boy,
Cuz we miss you--
I guess I miss you…

Sleepy boy,
Stuck in a dreamy story
In his head as he lies
in his bed of reality,
Seeing the sun
Set and the moon rise,
Feeling trippy in the skies
of his mind,
Where wild imagination
flutter in beauty like butterflies,
and thoughts trapped in a dark forest
of scary nightmares.
haunted by the hollow shadows
that follow,
Whispering regrets and mistaken burdens
he can’t forget.
Making him not sleep,
becoming lost in the deep
Darkness of insomnia.

Sleepy boy,
Always tired,
Eyes wrinkled in borrowed time,  
Coffee smell dances in the air of dusk,
trying to wake him to dreams
he can never quite reach.
Near and far in the hilltops,
Where stars once
sparkled and lingered in dusk,
Glimmering dreams.

Sleepy boy,
The blanket is a map
that guides him comforts
in his journey through
the cold dark nights,
The wind hums a mellow lullaby.
Follow the heartbeat drums,
And it will show you
The hidden path of Peace

Sleepy boy,
Rest will come when night’s anew,
Till then, push through, wander on,
dreams in view,
promise to bloom like flowers
under the morning hours.

There lies
A Storyteller
of the mountains,
Seeking for answers
from the Hills of Guidance,
Yet finding only darkened paths.

He tells a tale—
threads of what
once was,
weaving truths
in a voice of dead
rusts:

Silence echoes,
Forgotten souls,
Stolen Hope;
Of Fallen heroes,
And Artists and Poets
Hidden In the Ruined Roads
of the Unknown.

Then there begins the
tale of the Hunter.

Broken fragments
of a heart,
A thousand voices
Whisper in the
Bad Man’s name,
Shouting the sentence—
                              
“You must perish and
become trapped in you own
Hellish cage you’ve
once built with your hands!”

Yet he ventured onward,
through the narrow
Rivers of shame,
To the haunted fields
of blame,
Where ancient moments
The hunter holds close,
lost on a cold,
shadowed path
of mystery.

Only the Storyteller
Tells a tale of the hunter
Who hunts the
fleeting creature
of Hope…

Though the
Storyteller knows—
He once was that
fallen hero long ago.

It’s 2:06,
And I feel too sick
With every minute—
I’m with a critic
that’s about to
make me drift,
And that critic
is you.

I don’t care
if you hate me.
I’m not scared of you,
Nor your fake love,
your hollow support.
Leave me in the dark,
Blame me for it all,
Say it’s my fault—
break my heart
all you want.

But It’s 6:02—
And I’m sick
of you.

Every night,
As I lie in my bed,
I can’t sleep.
When I can’t sleep,
I do these funny strange things.
Like when I roll over in my bed,
I imagine in my head I’m with someone.
Hugging my pillow, trying to hear a heartbeat.
Though It’s hollow.
My bed is warm,
But I feel cold with this empty space.
Sometimes when I can’t sleep,
I sit up and clasp my hands close together.
Like that Disney scene in WALL-E.
For a while,
I start to think I’m holding someone’s hand.
Though the whole time, I find myself alone.
Imagining things in my mind.
I distract myself…
From the reality of being untouched and alone.
But even in my dream,
I wake up to find myself
In the reality of being touch-starved
And lonely every waking night.

You and I
Are in a fight,
And every time
becomes a Cold War.
A war I will hold
forever in my mind,
Frozen in time.
Each moment
I tried to talk to you,
It’s like stepping in a mine field
of arguments.
Each hurtful word
you’ve ever said
Hits like a bomb.

I’m done,
but you haven’t won…
You invade with a fake smile,
All charms and illusions,
Then ignore me,
make me small.
Take my heart
and rip it apart,
Tellin’ me you
“HATE ME”
As you walk away,
Pretending nothing happened.

We could have just talked it out
Instead of acting like babies.
Left out the weapons and walls,
But here we are—
Two fools in a ****** war
Nobody wins.