Have you ever felt,
even for a moment,
like you belong—
just for a second.
Then later
you’re gone.

You were happy once.
Then you start to
feel off with yourself,
like that mirror reveals
something wrong
with you.
You grow bitter
towards your reflection,
thinking it’s your fault—
you’re broken.

Your vision twists,
shifts into fake illusions,
A haze of self destruction
and hate,
slaughters your soul.
You drift away,
slowly,
hoping to stay
a little longer at this
Mad Tea Party.

But you vanish,
disappear—
like magic,
fading into
the tragic dark,
alone.

I’ve felt
that feeling
for a long
time now.

When you are stuck with pain.
Lock yourself in a room,
Write what you’re
going through.
All of it will
float like
a balloon.
Soon you’ll
be free.

Any relationship,
friendship or more,
is a game of charades.
It’s messy when
two sides elaborate—
lost in gesture,
illusions and
miscommunications
that leave more questions
instead of answers.

It’s scary…
to talk,
to reach out
to someone,
sometimes—
they might hate you,
grow annoyed by your texts,
see you as a burden,
or simply walk away.
You want them to stay,
then you feel greedy,
stupid or strange to say it.

That’s the point.
Charades is never clever;
Everything is a guess—
A choice.
And each choice
is a fifty-fifty bet—
like Russian Roulette,
where you pull the trigger
to see what happens.

It gets messy…

Every morning, driving,
I see the orange sun rising,
trying to shove my problems
into a four-inch storage bin.
Lock it tight behind a
four-inch orange door.
Inject myself with a syringe
full of poisonous illusions,
covered in mental wounds,
I fall to the floor,
self-hate oozing.

Losing sleep,
screaming inside.
Drifting apart in my car—
I wanna call you.
My heart’s sinking,
tryna salvage good moments.
It’s a challenge
to forgive myself again.

I’m sorry.
I haven’t left
you a message.
All day, I’ve wanted
to talk to you.
Sitting in my car,
watching the orange
sun falling down,
I drift…

I solation is what kills me.
S o I scream for help—
O nly then, silence echoes louder.
L iving amongst false illusion alone,
A life in an empty home of a lonely heart.
T hroughout my time, I use this map.
I tried to find hope in the dark.
O f course—
N othing shows the path.

Here’s the truth…
“I wanna die,”
“I wanna survive,”
the ropes are tearing me,
pulling me apart,
like tug of war.
I wanna cry
but my tears are dry.
I wanna go back
and try to start over—

But I can’t…
I can’t sleep,
I can’t breathe,
I can’t see,
I can’t be free,
I can’t find what I seek.

I can’t scream—
my voice breaks.
I can’t be saved.
I’m stuck in my room,
I can’t love you.
I can’t be loved.
I can’t be enough.

I can’t find you,
I can’t find me.

I hate myself,
I hate who I am,
and I miss the
old me who didn’t.

I hate my life,
I hate the time,
I hate this day,
I hate every minute,
I hate the memories I made—
but they’re all I have left.

I hate the silences.
I hate the noise.
I hate walking away,
I want to stay,
but I’m always a memory away.
I hate the pain and ache of wanting,
yet never being heard.
I hate everything,
It hurts!

*******,
**** me,
**** everyone
who lies and say
it’s gonna be ok,
the talents I hold,
every word I spoke,
this poem I wrote,
the illusions of hope,
the isolation—
I’m getting cold
and alone…

The Crooked Man’s
living rent-free,
laughing.

I wanna scream
into the void—
*******!
Because I’m still here.

In the silent hills,
a ghost cabin stands,
left cold and abandoned
in the woods,
where once a family lived.

A house of
broken memories,
a weary hunter’s reflection,
a haven for those
who wandered hope
for far long.

Untold stories linger—
of heroes into ghosts,
lost souls for those
who never passed
the test.

Their hearts—
decomposed and forgotten,
their bones mold into
the old wooden walls,
their essence carved
into splintered floors,
as mushrooms bloom
through roofs of despair.
Their souls burn
in the chambers
of the fireplace,
where their screams
forever haunting
the hunter’s mind.

To pass the test
is to let go of
what haunts
and follows.
To claim the courage
to love yourself again.

If you see
the Crooked Man,
don’t trust his crooked smile.
Though you must play
the forbidden games—
A twisted duel
of Solitaire and
Russian Roulette.

Survive until dawn,
and your soul will go on,
free for another day
to continue your journey
toward peace…