I’m in the darkest
layers of the forest paths.
This “map” I hold,
left me stranded
to a road like
everyone did.
Left in dead ends
of coldest lands.
Where I stand is
not my choice,
not my voice,
not what I resist.
I tried to live
the fullest story.
But every minute
I don’t exist to anyone.

So tell me—
Do I exist,
or do I leave
the nearest
exit?

Grief is your
friendly thief,
quietly stealing
your heart,
replacing it with
sadness, anger,
and a heavy
weight of loss.
It stands in shadows
of every corner,
never leaving.
Even when you
think it’s gone,
It steals again

The more it
consumes you,
the less you
recognize who
you once called
“you” in the room
from the process.

Grief is your
friendly reminder
that sometimes
to begin new,
you end what
you once had.

I woke up
last night.
I felt like a
crazy insomniac.

A sound of
Death’s tap on
the window,
then through
the floor boards.
Suddenly a whistle—
Screeched like
nails on the board,
slipping beneath
the door.

Waiting to grab
me in the shadows...
to throw me
back in a black
body bag.

Your lies hit me.
Every “I promise”
or “I love you”
was covered
in horse ****.
A lie reeks
so badly,
I could *****
any second
and die in
a casket.
A lie is
a bullet—
a violent
way to ****
someone’s heart.
Quick.
Cold.
Fatal.

I remember a girl…

Her hair branched
out like tree roots,
but shine like crimson
leaves of autumn bloom.
The last thing I saw,
I noticed her eyes.
Her eyes glow
cold but bright—
Her dark sea blue eyes
could stare out from
the endless ocean
miles within.

Her skin,
covered in scars.
The Crooked Man
cut through  
her beautiful
skin.

The last thing I heard.
Her voice—
A sound of
nature’s broken
beauty.
An echo haunting—
almost of a violin
screaming for peace.
Her heart’s stolen
by the shadows,
lurking inside
her cold, dark
Sea Blue Eyes

The walk for freedom,
The walk for justice,
The walk for equality.
Look!
These signs say
“Men of Quality,
don’t fear equality!”

“We’re all Equal!”

We don’t sit and
talk quietly about
what’s in front of us—
We shout!
Shout louder than
the mighty storm!

We protest!
We resist being
broken down by
the greedy corrupt,
and malicious demons.
We fight for the right
to live humanely.

It’s never the end,
It’s the new beginning—
We walk the walk
to be human.

Dear friend,

If you’re
reading my letter,
just know
I’m trying to feel better,
even though
I really feel bitter.
I hide my wounds deeper
underneath my sweater.

As a writer,
this chapter gets worse.
The pen I write with
buries me alive
in dark memories.
I surround myself
with sounds of laughter,
but I don’t feel
quite as happy—
I feel tired.

I’m sorry
I was gone
for a long while.
I wish to ask for support,
but that feels wrong.
I wish I can call,
but I fall closer to that
Crooked Man’s door
like never before.