Oh Clumsy,
Clumsy Child,
always falling
into wild
fantasies and
Mad Tea Parties.

Always stranded
in haunted forests
for endless days—
Tangled in
vines of hurt—
Covered in cuts
and open wounds.
Running away
from your own
shadows as the
raven echoes—

Drowning in oceans
of fragmented emotions.
So injured,
you can’t speak
what is spoken.
Astray in crowded
places where loud
souls breathe as
your voice fades.

Oh Clumsy,
Clumsy Child—
Where will you go?
Trapped beyond
The Hidden Hills,
lost your way.
Will you ever
find your home—
Or forever
wander along
the forest roads?

My Emotions,
my screams—
muffled.
Left to decay
behind your
colorful walls
you decorate—

My Essence,
buried under your
etched, wooden
floor boards.
Hidden beneath
the rugs you
stand on—

My Heart,
hung higher than
The Hanged Man
from your ceiling.
Exposed like
a chandelier,
yet only held
vulnerable by
a thin rope.
Ready to snap
and let go—

My Soul,
cold and restless.
Locked in
tight behind
closed doors—

My Shadows,
walk forever
down your
hollow halls.
Trapped inside
The House of
Bitter Horrors
it holds.

Dear critics—
and for those
who read this,
I believe
you may
or may not
notice—

Maggots,
crawling inside
my ribcage,
gnawing me alive—
I’ve vanished
without a trace.
I hope you hate me.
It’s so tragic—
I’ve quit, erased
my magic that
made me ache
to exist—
**** it.

Illusions spread,
warm imagination
turns dead cold,
trapped in a room
with broken hands,
barely standing.
It’s tragic—
I quit magic.
Moments burn—
ghostly “friends”
turn into critics,
watching the last
trick unfold—

The Dead Magician
vanish into thin air.
Pulled in isolation’s
crooked hands
behind closed
curtains.

My throat burns,
choking on greener grass
I breathe in—
white bathroom walls
closing in.
Eyes bloodshot red,
too blurred to see
the greener side.

My insides shatter
the glass mirror
each time I look.
Eyes aligned—
tired and numb.
Sick of my essence—
SICK OF IT.

Fist—******,
trembling, sore.
Heart— cracked,
bruised, wounds
split wide open.
Walls closing in.

Falling…

    sinking…
                            
      drowning…

until blue-cold
waters submerged
my eyes—
shaking and
crying.

I walked down
Lovers Dead End today,
always muttering
to myself—
as if a friend
listens to my
broken voice
but is never there
to comfort.

Each step
drops deeper.
I see the cracked
cement roads
littered with
remnants—
fragments of laughter,
moments I cherished
brew bitter—

Flickering streetlights
of past arguments,
and forest vines of
neglect tighten
around my throat.
A reminder for
tangled hearts
I won’t forget—

But my voice chokes,
left speechless as
I trip on curved
grounds of regret,
scrape my knees
and shatter my
essence.

Lovers Dead End—
where the past still
breathes in fog,
where the cold
morning air lingers.
Where we fell apart
and melt like
strawberry ice cream
on the sidewalk—
where I found you.

I’m so silly and lonely,
I walk by my own,
often talk to my
broken self.
I’m silly and lonely—
I look in the mirror,
and all I see
is the bitter me.
I’m so silly and lonely—
I’ve been bitten
and spat out,
covered in bruises
and scratches

Scratch it—
I’m so silly and lonely,
I make ******
jokes to laugh at,
only to feel laughed
at for being alone.
I’m so silly and lonely,
I wanna be underground,
at least I found nobody.
I’m so silly and lonely...
**** it—