You still exist
in my head.
What kills is
the thought of
my existence.
A meaningless name,
a voice with
no shadow,
crawling through
my ribcage,
gnawing me alive
every waking night.

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.

As I sit
on isolated
grounds of the
library covered
in cobwebs,
I hear a sound—

A sound
of dusted
silence.
My own
words echo.
No shadow
approached—

Nor has
found me—
like a dusty,
forgotten book
filled with
broken memoirs.
Left waiting
in the poetry
aisle—
left unread.

The cold
wind blows,
laughter
echoes loud.
The young
night glows
a circus light
show at my
school.

Blurred faces—
some I
recognized
under their
white smiles,
know what’s
at stake.
They speak
the name to
which I can’t
shake what
aches—

A soul I’m
afraid to lose.
A soul I can’t
speak to
nor reach.

Running like
a rabbit into
the dark
forest library.
Chapters of
painful poems
and shattered
memoirs.

“Tick…”
“Tick…”
“Tick…”

Then a sound
of my alarm
clock—
screaming.

I wake up,
scared and
isolated again,
lying in bed—
breathless.
My real
nightmare—
I never
reach you—
Or maybe…
never see
you anymore.

As a poet,
I have some
sort of “sickness”.
A “disease” that
makes me cough
cold, raw, inky words.
It forms sentences
you never heard
out of me before.

On endless hours
of sitting in a
room alone,
my throat
hurts so badly.
Someone sliced it
open with a knife—
I lost my broken voice
in the process—
But not my soul

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.

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.

Anxiety,
keeps on eating
off of me—
like a disease.

Anxiety,
slicing me with
a sharp knife.
Anxiety,
killing me quietly—

Anxiety,
I feel
The Crooked Man
standing in one corner—
Like Death,
watching me—
waiting…
The ghosts,
haunting me—

Anxiety,
spreading inside
my chest,
stress spilling over—
mind’s a mess.
Anxiety,
killing me
quietly—

Anxiety,
Pulling me in tightly,
wrapping its rope
around my throat—
choking me…
I can’t breath,
I can’t see,
I scream—
Anxiety,
silenced me.

There,
left hung on
The Hanging
Tree…

Each time I’m talking to you,
It feels like walking blindfolded
Through a minefield.
You never care how I feel.
One wrong move and I’m
Thrown on the wheel of misfortunes,
knives hurled at me as I spin
with one sentence:
“I love you”—

Got me weak like kryptonite,
I’ll admit, but that was a lie
and you never meant it.
You tricked me two times,
I’ve gotten attached to your false love,
Caught a disease of heartache,
and end up with rabies filled with
memories I wished I’ve forgotten.
It’s like tossing a grenade at a relationship
that will soon sink like a shipwreck,
drowning in the ocean in bitter,
cold emotions I still hold.

You said to me you hate me,
Told me it’s too late for apologies,
But now you’re calling me at night
because you want me back?

Your love was always fake,
Suffocating me in my mistakes.
Afraid to lose you,
You never really wanted to make amends,
You want me to entertain you
With a show while you complain and say:
“You’re the problem” and how I can’t solve them.

Talking to you,
Feels like taking pills that
will **** me sooner or later.  
Your hollow apologies echo with
Empty words dressed up
in cheap disguise,
Choking me with more lies.
I apologize if I hurt you
but I don’t want to forgive you—
I want to forget you.

As many artists say,
They have one thing in common.
They try to live to the fullest moment.
By that, they live in their own agony.
They let themselves almost get killed
By their own art just to get the voices out.
Critics leaving voicemails of death threats
under the beds in their heads.
Following a spiral stairwell down to hell.
Getting Inspired by the worst current events.
The artist never let themselves think.
Thinking might just let them sink underneath
their dreams,
Feeling unheard.

For a painter,
they just throw ink and splatter paint
onto a canvas full of bright and dark colors.

For a rapper,
they rap in rhymes and rhythm
full of realism.
They’re not just trying to be a spokesman,
they’re just a broken person carrying a mic
full of mistaken burdens over a mountain.
Leading them in a journey for Hope.

Poets and writers are rotten in a mental prison
with a journal filled with poems and written chapters
they write while they fight and ****
the devil with a pencil in their mind
throughout the night.

Actors actin’
on a part that they don’t even recognize,
But they can entertain an audience with a smile
and a good show.
Their whole life is a stage to them.
Even when curtains close,
you never know the real them
because they’re going with the flow,
playing their parts.

Without using our tragedy as art to tell stories
Is like saying a painter with no paintbrush,
canvas or paint color.
A rapper with no beat, rhythm or rhyme.
Getting lost in the path of no hope.
A writer with no crow and no Idea what to write.
It’s just pointless without a pencil and no demons to fight.
An actor not knowing how to act in their part
of a bitter situation.

How can I use art to stitch up
my heart with a thread that would soon fall again?
How can I be the artist if I can’t be a realist
and speak my mouth out with the hardest subjects
and darkest moments
that will soon have the crooked man ******
me in my sleep?

BEEP
Hey…
Um…
If you’re listening to this audio recording,
Um…
I wanted to say I miss you.
I haven’t seen or heard from you in a while, and…
I know what you're going through hurts you…
Um..
It’s ok to not be ok,
and I’m sorry that it hurts.
I really am.
But um…
I know everything will be ok and…
Well, I know that sounds cliche but
I'm not just saying this.
I know it will get better soon.
I want you to know you’re not alone.
Just don’t let go of hope, ok?
I love you…
*BEEP

as I sit on the grounds of the autumn fall
of the forest roads to the unknown,
the surroundings become small.

As I sit there and write
A poem full of reminiscences of
pain and lost souls that echoes the word
"Nevermore".

A butterfly flies and problems fall
like golden leaves from the trees,
becoming free from the tragedy.
But not hidden in the forgotten,
lonesome roads.
Where the ghosts of lost orphans
that lies in the haunted shadows.


A crow follows wherever I go
as the seasons change and the flowers die.
Waiting to bloom the transformation of rebirth
that lies in the forest home. Listening to the gentle
wind singing that mellow song of hope like ghosts.
Watching the gold-orange sun sets into the distance,
disappearing into the Autumn Fall.

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.

A white cup of
black coffee:
a psychological
routine for zombies,
slaving away in
dark, cubed offices
of self corruption—

lives drained,
never energized
enough to love
their creativity
of oneself.

My mind is a
Blind winter,
The wind of
inner thoughts,
thrive like a wild child,
Heart beating louder
Like thunder,
Chills spines
down inside,
Shaking, cold,
And still holding
Onto what kills me.

I can’t find a place
that’ll keep my
face warm,
In this blind winter—
I’ve been following
the whispers
of bitter souls
I conjured—

“You’ll—
                            die—
       alone—
                        in—
the—
            snow—”

I’ve been following
Traces of snow of
rewind tapes—
To moments
left paralyzed…
I feel lost in time…

In the blind
winter snow…

Dear readers,

I’m not much of a poet,
But I know I’m stuck in a closet,
Writing letters for people
Who’s suffering with the darkest moments
from the coldest people,
Hoping one day, they read it.
I remember someone
told me to seize each minute,
Don’t ponder it,
otherwise you’ll be in the casket full of regret
And late wishes to change one thing.

So Instead,
I take something from a broken nothing,
Use my voice for the people to feel heard,
and I never just use words,
I use it as a weapon,
So those raw emotions lurking inside
becomes a burning letter
no one will forget—

Don’t **** the messenger,
I’m writing a letter.

I’ve been in
pain for a while.
I tried to smile
but my brain’s
turning into
a knot—
choking me.

I watch the
time go by,
I wanna talk to you
but lately my
hands are tied,
cried my eyes out
last night,
my voice cracks
like glass,
ready to break,
hurting in the inside,
searching for hope,
but circling
into a burning
memory—

Where my soul
is left rotten,
And long
forgotten

We wrote a
chapter together…
Once a story of happiness—
soon foreshadowing
what’s now a tragic
epilogue of heartache.

A haunting tale of
A broken connection
sinking in the ocean…
inky quotes
Stabbed my heart
Open with
illusions:

“I love you…”
“I promise…”
“I HATE YOU!”

The weight of cold,
bitter emotions—
etched into the pages
of an unforgiving lie,
and moments
full of regret.
I’d wish
I could
forget you.

You wanted to
write a new chapter,
but I’ve already closed
the book,
left it on the shelf…
where I found you

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…

Each breath
is a reminder of the regrets
living in her body like a cancer…

Breathe in…
One, Two, Three…
Breathe out…
Now my mom’s free,
Or so she thought.
The smoke sends an illusion of peace.
The smell of ember burning,
getting closer and closer to death’s door
as it eats away the cigarettes,
While the time ticks slowly.
Each moment she lights the lighter,
The fire dances,
sending chills down her spine…

She knows it’s bad—
She said to me that she will get better,
but she gets bitter each minute
she holds the box of cigarettes
With the regrets she won’t let go.

Breathe in…
One, Two, Three…
Breathe out…
I don’t recognize my mom anymore.
I miss the old her.
The one who smiles and laughs,
Like a kid at a park.
Or whenever I cry with the fear of her dying
And disappearing,
she would hug me close and told me this;
“Don’t worry, baby…
Mama won’t let go of you.”
Now, she clutches a box of cigarettes.
Each breath she breathes
is a broken promise.
The mom I knew is fading in the smoke.
The mom I knew is in this photo,
But I want the real her.

Breathe in…
One, Two, Three…
Breathe out…
Now my mom’s gone from my life.

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?

Throughout my life,
it has been a conundrum.
I wait for someone
to numb the bitter.

The problem is…
Asking for support
or wishing you’d stay—
makes me feel sick.

I’m afraid you might think
I treat you like my therapist.
Seeing me decay as I watch
you walk away.
Pacing through the asylum,
clipboard in hand
as you stand there.
Listening, writing
down the things I say—
except how to
save a patient.

And that,
is the oldest
conundrum
to exist.

Dead in my bed.
My head aches,
swollen with stress.
Tragedy rewinds
on a worn VHS tape,
a melody played
on my old cassette.

My chest is heavy,
covered in sweat,
breaths shaky,
emotions suppressed,
I’m breaking slowly
as the voice creeps in.

I swallow pills,
force to forget
who I am…
Soon, I’ll be a
Dead Silhouette…

You said you
would be
"dead"
without me?

Well then…
why are you
still breathing
in my head?

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?

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.

I feel
empty--
lonely—
Every night,
by myself,
playing rewind
of lies
again...

I panic…
cry…
can’t breathe…
I scream—
“I’m sorry”.
Afraid
to lose
you…

I rarely ask
for help,
it's scary
to ask
for help—

“PLEASE HEL—”

The voices
cut me off...
parasites
infecting
my brain.
Flames
ignite inside—
I’m in pain,
I blame myself,
I remain cold—

“You’ll always be alone—”

I don’t know
where to go—
I’m trapped…
I don’t have
a map
to hope—

HELP ME!

Please…
the silence
is loud—
and bitter…

I feel
so empty—
cold—
alone—
dreaming
for hope—
while drifting
slowly…

All I want
is love,
but that’s
to much
to ask.

I chase it,
hoping someone
would stay,
but they
walk away.

I’m always
stuck in place,
lost in space,
snake like chains
wrapped me
with venomous,
murderous
intentions
of hate—
losing myself,
anxious to ask
for help,
always
remained lonely,
like a castaway.

In my head,
it’s an escape room.
I wake up, stuck in a bathroom,
Each wall closing in on me.
Filled with mistakes
and regrets that make me fall.
Bittersweet memories and lost mementos
I hate-
A horrid melody put on repeat.
Each worst memory that I’ve replayed
Feels like a ****** mystery
To a broken scene.
Trying to figure out what happened.
Or if I did wrong in a relationship…

I’ve searched for hope…
Or the answer to it.
In the cracked mirror,
I see a broken self.
That self turns bitter and lonely,
Fading away in the shattered glass
As the time ticks slowly,
Wishing for the world to be better.
Each puzzle is a current problem
that yells and screams in my head.
Turning life into a living hell to solve.
The door won’t budge,
And I can’t find the key.
I keep thinking,
Wishing to be freed.
I get tired of it-
Trying to escape...
In the endless Escape Room…

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…

My mind’s been
flaking slowly,
like dry paint off
your pristine,
decorated walls.
Every cold night
the autumn moon breathes,
my heart falls apart,
like dying leaves from
The Hanging Tree.

Doctor, Doctor—
Will you help me?
All this time,
I’ve waited so
patiently,
I became one
of your unsteady
patients.

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…

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.

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.

Hi…
I’m so alone.
I want to talk to
someone—
I say ”hi”,
they say “goodbye”,
and walk away.
I wish they’d
stay.

I’m so alone,
each moment
I exist,
I fade away—
a group forms,
backs turned,
building a wall,
tall and mighty.
I walk away,
only to feel
the silence
beating me
down,
leaving me
lonely again.

I’m so alone—
But once—
I met someone
with a warm smile,
blazing like a
fireplace.

And when
that someone
comes up
to say “hi”,
I forget
I’m alone.

For a moment
I belonged…
But I realize
the fire
won’t last
long.

I’m so alone—
Someone asked
if I’m “okay”
only for me to say
“I’m fine”—
or “goodbye”
and walk away,
not knowing
where to go—

Only to
feel cold
and alone
again…

Goodbye

I hide away
from a place
you won’t
find me…

I can’t find
myself through
my words
when I’m hurt—
I’m scared.
when you
ask me
if I’m ok

I wish I could
define my
emotions—
I’m drowning
in the ocean,
stuck in the
shattered
moment

But instead
I pretend
and say
“I’m fine”

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 try to keep up,
but then I fall.
Soon, I sink
into the wheelchair.
White lights glare—
cold, grimy,
asylum prison.

Fallen.
Broken.
Soul stolen.
Poison in my veins.

"All I want is"—

I stare for hours
down endless,
narrow halls,
full of lost souls—
the ones who let go,
ended up hospitalized—
suicide on their minds.

I feel paralyzed—
left traumatized,
trapped inside,
confined,
searching the
room for you,
someone to talk too.
I can still feel you,
but you’re not here.
You’re not there.
You’re nowhere.

A bandage covers
my right arm,
hiding the cuts,
hiding the pain,
but drowning deep.
I don’t know who to trust,
“All I want is love”—
but my hands are tied.

I hate feeling desperate,
I don’t feel protected,
you told me you
would protect me,
I don’t feel respected,
I feel rejected,
I hate rejection,
I feel defensive,
I feel vulnerable,
I feel exposed,
all alone—

WHY CAN’T YOU
LET ME GO?!

You wanna
talk now,
But I walked
out

Every minute
I sit on that couch,
Your critics
start to
speak to
me

You said you
would stay,
But you walked
away

I’m done
playing your
rigged games—
you throw
shame on me,
then hate
started
to eat me alive
and you blame
It’s my fault
all along,
Even though
you dealt
the same cards

every time
You beg
me back,
we fallback to the
Same trap,
Carrying the map
of no hope,
I wanna let go
of these cracked
memories that
were never meant
to be,
But only for me
to see—

I can’t breathe,
I can barely speak—
And I’m sorry,
But we can’t be…

I can’t eat.
I’ve been falling
deep from not eating.
Heart’s aching,
right hand shaking,
taunted by scattered voices—
Slowly consuming my insides
like a parasite.

I feel too sick,
haunted by the fear
of being forgotten—
Left rotting alone
under the cold,
abandoned
wasteland nights—
Afraid to lose
someone,
like you.
Self hate crawls
around my stomach
and cuts old deeper wounds
like a sharp blade—
Maggots feeding off my scars
filled with shattered memoirs
all over my tired,
puppetted body.

I can’t eat…
I think there’s
something wrong
with me.

I love you in the morning,
I love you through the night,
I love you when I fight,
I love you when I tried and failed,
I love you in the light,
I love you in the dark,
I love you through the moon and back,
I love you through hard times,
I love you even if we break apart,
I love you when you’re here,
I love you when you’re there,
I love you even when you’re gone,
I love you everywhere.
I love you every moment--

I love you…

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.

I read your text
and it kind
of hurt me,
I don’t know
what happens next
Or what lies you said
In your circle,
Planning to **** me twice,
That ain’t nice—

Every time
I think of you,
I’m on the brink,
bout to sink fast—
Nah scratch that—
Or maybe not—
Mind’s a maze
When I rewind
To the tapes of
Moments left
broken

When you
called me back,
Wantin’ to
make amends,
I hesitate cuz
you had a
plan to manipulate,
Suffocate me with
Unsolved karma,
Throw salt on my
Mistakes,
Then go crying
to your mama—
Like I’m Freddy
in your nightmares—
Trauma!
Thinking she
got advise,
A hotline for lies,
She ain’t curing your—
Drama!

I just wanna escape,
You still hold onto
The hate,
Throw me
back onstage,
Bout to break me—
Spotlight blazing shame,
Feeling the flames
Burning my fate—
crossed my name out—

Oh no,
Here goes
my fat ex,
Driving in a
Fedex truck,
Shipping hate,
like it’s Christmas Day,
Almost got me fed up!
About to ****** the
messenger
with a bullet
But I cut the
*******—

What a sitcom!
Yeah you’re the star,
Playing games
with my brain
Acting like you’re
the villain
with a monologue
and a backstory,
round of applause,
You tore me apart—
I got some scars!
I was friends
with a monster—

Trust was shattered—
a prop show,
A joke at first,
But ends up
being a war—
A **** show…

But I’m still
standing,
spitting bars,
Flipping scripts
on the spot,
Writing you off
Like you never existed
In the first place—
In a space,
where I can’t erase,
But I can embrace,
You fading away.

Indigo—
It was nice
to know you,
But I’m done,
gotta go,
Hope you don’t grow
bitter and older,
But **** that,
I ain’t wishing
you luck—

I’m not cold-hearted,
I’m just getting colder
With a fractured heart—
Gotta find myself hope—
And when I do,
I’ll be the
one to open
it.

A chaotic void
of black emptiness.
Left with endless
loneliness—

Yet, you’re not alone…
A monster lurks
within insidious shadows,
crawling through your
brain like insects.
The disease spreads,
memories fester,
oozing pain as
your heart expires.

It dwells inside
the cracked mirror,
where your own
reflection despises
the weakness—
loathes the “sickness”
it cannot unsee…

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.