There were all
the things you
don’t see about me.
I can’t open up to you,
and lately, I don’t
know what to do.

I wanted to say all
the things you don’t see.
If only we had
one moment alone—
but I barely see you
nowadays.

The thief of lonely
lingers in the shadows,
drives me crazy,
slowly killing me like poison,
stealing pieces of my soul,
breaking my voice,
leaving no words
to speak, shout, or scream
all the things you don’t see.

So I stopped
trying to reach
what’s no longer there,
but you never noticed
I was gone.
That’s all the things
you don’t see.

I am one person,
trapped in one
nightmare,
playing one
endless game
of solitaire,
with cards of
my own choices
and decisions
made with regret.

Time devours me,
a feast for parasites
and maggots,
while I ache
to forget
myself--
****** myself
with hate...

I sit in
a wheelchair,
stare at the
white walls
of my own
mind’s cruel game—
solitaire confinement,
inprisoned in
loneliness…

I remember the terror—
Embers of 25,
the endless days
and nights.

Winds of thousand voices
roared louder than thunder.
The fire burned sharper,
hotter than ever,
reaching sky-high,
dancing to choke the air,
slaughtering and devouring
memories of what once was,
making us to fall
like ashes to the grounds.

The unexpected sacrifice
left us traumatized,
but it symbolize
how together,
we will rise,
burning brighter
and stronger than
The Ember of 25.

It’s 12 o’clock.
I see a lock
on the door
but I forgot I
have no key.
I rot in a box
as the bugs eat
my facade face.
Critics watched
me struggle
in this dark place,
I wish to be free,
to be loved…

For me,
being lonely
is like starving…

But sometimes,
I’d rather die
alone than choke on
a poisonous cake,
served with a
delusional
grin at the
Mad Tea Party…

That phony person
with their hollow smile,
would stab my back,
then slit my throat
and watch me croak
under a minute—
or less…

The one question
lingers in my mind,
It burns my soul deep inside…

“If I wrote you a poem
about your flames,
Will you stop
burning your fire?”

Last night
I saw the fire dancing.
Its red and orange skin
sparked a spotlight
across the dark skies.
Its flame shapes
into fiery eyes,
and looked through me
with a crooked smile
as it dances a haunted,
quiet dance of death.
Echoes of crack screams,
the smoke twisted,
forming into old,
tortured souls—

Fragment memories too…

I woke up tired
this morning.
As I walk out,
the smell of smoke
still kills the air.
I watched as the
world burns—

Myself too…