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…

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.

Mirror mirror
On the wall,
Who’s the most shattered
of them all?
Aligned with the cracked glass,
I feel broken.
Each scar of self-harm
Leads to a line of tokens—
Every scratch and crack in the mirror
Is a symbol of self hate
that plagues my heart.
Soon to fall apart
And rot in the mirror…

Mirror mirror
On the wall,
Who’s the most fallen of them all?
Hidden and forgotten
in the dust of cobwebs
In your attic.
I ask for help,
But aligned with the smashed glass,
I feel stolen and trapped
Under the illusion of no hope—
Bruised and abused.
Left in confusion,
Losing people like flies,
Leaving shattered moments
in pieces scattered across the floor,
Only then I feel heartbroken.

Mirror mirror
On the wall,
What have I done wrong
To become aligned with
This broken mirror?

BEEP

Hey!
I know you’re not here right now,
and I’ve called you all night,
But I miss you.
Sometimes I wish you were here,
Maybe to hear your voice…
One more time.
Cuz every minute
I fear being alone.
In my own home,
I’m lost in my head.
In my bed, I can’t sleep,
Cuz I dream of you.

I don’t know if you’ll ever
listen to this…
Or if my words are just
echoes lost on the line.

Anyways,
Hope you hear this voicemail,
Cuz I love you—

BEEP

It’s Twelve to midnight,
The cold moonlight shines
so bright across the October night.
I go outside for a walk with my dog.
The sky falls into a dark void filled with nothing.
The world stands still.
An owl coos in the pitch black
crooked trees that stand tall.
Surrounding every corner I go.
Each foot-step crunches beneath my feet
With leaves scattered across the concrete.
Screaming in pain.
The wind sings under the Harvest moon,
like lost souls.
Sending chills down my spine with paranoia.
Streetlights shining so grim and dark
With a yellow glow that shows the way
Through that cursed path that leads beneath the dark.
Crickets chirping loudly through the dimmed,
quiet neighborhood.  
My breathing becomes heavy.
Each heartbeat grows louder and louder with anxiety.
Feeling this unease tension in the black void.
Feeling like I’m watched.
Stalked through my night walk.
Then a crash breaks the silence.
A trashcan falls over.
The night swallows the sound whole,
Followed by a creepy whistle echoing through the night.
I turn around…
Under one streetlight,
I see a tall, skinny dark figure just standing there.
Its eyes staring me down with its wide,
uncanny smile. Like I’m its prey in its sight.
It felt like a while.
Its arms and legs contorted and crooked,
Bones poking through flesh of its skin.
Then for a moment
I hear an alarm on my phone.
It’s an Amber Alert…

“A creature called
‘The Crooked man’
lurks in the neighborhood at midnight.
A total of five people went missing last week.
If you see this creature,
Stay in shelters imminently!
Don’t let anyone in and
Don’t trust the voices inside!”

There I stand.
The light vanishes into darkness
And the song stops playing.
I can’t see for a moment.
Then out of nowhere,
it lunges at me.
The last thing
I saw… is its smile.

I wake up,
Past twelve through midnight
In my bed.
It was all in my head…
Or is it?
As I see an Amber Alert on my phone with a message
“Don’t let the crooked man in…”
Then…Whistling…

I have
no clue
how to
love you.
It’s like
flipping a
Rubik’s cube.
All we do
is continue to
argue in your room,
circling around
an issue—
left in a mystery,
an unsolved
Enigma...

Nature's trees dancing
to the wind's mellow song.
Crimson leaves falling on the
October roads. Letting go of
the trees. Slowly becoming
free on its journey for Peace.

I sit here on the yellow-green grass.
I see a butterfly passing by as the seasons change.
I'm listening to the colder breeze speaking of the
written chapters full of word of wisdom flowing like
a river full of rhythm of realism.


the sun sets into
the October skies,
birds flying through the October path.
Ghosts of the wind singing on the Friday night
of October.

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 burry myself with the anger. 
Hang myself with the same problems 
with a hanger. 
Go out with a banger, 
but every time I do,
I fall flat get my mouth slap 

Then I get kicked out and spit on. 
Then I blame myself with the anger, 
set myself up in flames.
Throwin’ hate in my name, 
lookin at myself in the reflection, 
aim at my direction, 
shoot at my perception with shame. 

Then I go insane, 
throwin myself in a hurricane, 
my life is a train reck, 
I try to maintain, 
meanwhile I’m entertaining a crowd that complains, 
my brain is a stage that’s set aflame, 
chained up with sorrows and pain of no hope I wanna let go,
Why can’t I let go..? 
I’m chained up with no hope, 
It’s been eight chapters full of anger 
and no hope, 
I rather let go and gather myself 
with my fracture heart that still bleeds, 
Please let me go

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…

If we focus on
the past,
What’s the future?
What’s left of the Present
if all we see are messes
behind us,
worryin’ about the “ifs”—
A ****** surprise birthday gift
we never asked for,
ruined before you’ve
open it.

Oh, Hello!
I’m stuck in a ****** asylum
for the mental abused, freaks,
and drug needles that doctors use.
Hollow halls filled with the white voids
of nothingness,
Swallowing white pills to solve my mental problem,
seeing tall shadows that follow me every corner of these walls.
Trapped in the narrow room of the mental prison.
Each day, I wait for freedom
as the time is tickin’,
eatin’ every moment in this room.
I see the broken people walkin’ in crooked ways,
Talkin’ in crooked riddles and rhymes
of wise nonsense about their fractured realities.
Wearing blue gowns to cover their skeletal bodies
filled with scars,
Haunting the hospital rooms with the screams of…
Well, screams--
Or something worse.
The doctors assume they’re insane,
but really they’re in pain.
Those doctors are the ones crazy.
They think the ones broken
are psychos.
I ask for help,
they neglected me—
As I rot in the cell of the asylum
with these broken memories.
Even the dream of hope is locked up
in chains.


Time ticks and I feel like a freak.
They feed me venom through my veins,
Keep me up at night with horrible screams
of pain through my prison.
Time ***** me and I feel like a freak.
I feel hidden and trapped in my burden walls
And I can’t escape.
I wrote poems full of fractured nonsense
of my reality that turns into fantasy
for the shadows that see it.
All I wanted to be is a poet…
To speak the truth…
To be freed and loved…
Now I’m buried in the ****** asylum in
my own head again.
Here, even the dream of hope is locked up
in chains.

I haven’t written this **** yet so here we go…
It hits me every time I sit on a red couch.
Sometimes I wanna gouge my eyes out.
Sometimes I feel sick.
I used to be surrounded with comfort
Against the fabric.
Now it brings in dead torture.
Once, I had a friend I used to like…
Or so I thought…
You see?
I regret tellin’ him I liked him,
More than friends.
Shouldn’t cuddle with him,
or hold his hand…
Or lean in to kiss him.
But I was in the moment.
My heart skipped a beat when he said
“I love you”.

Now it goes from a “I love you” to a
“I didn’t wanna hurt you the same with Ethan”
Which left me bitter and broken.
I don’t hate him because
he made a promise he couldn’t keep.
I mean I wish I’d forget this ever happened.
He said something that made me not trust again.
He leaned in after the kiss and whispered
“If you want me to let go, that’s fine,
but if you don’t say anything,
I won’t let go of you.”
I hate him now because I hate believing it.
I hate myself.
I realized I was an act for his entertainment
Of his loneliness.
He left me on silent for a while after.
So I cut the thread and left the moment dead.
Leaving that red couch cold.

I hope I get
to survive in 2025.
Let go of the pain
that’s been living inside
all my life…

I know that everyone
here is talking about resolution…
So my resolution is
to find someone…

To talk to for hours,
To walk with,
To laugh together,
To cry on their shoulder,
To hug them,
hold their hand and never let go,
To find hope with a map,
To cuddle with,
To kiss them,
To love them,
To miss them
every minute,
To be alone
in every moment
with them…

That “hope”
I define
is love…

Run, Rabbit, run—
Reap what you sow.
Run, Rabbit, run—
Follow the river’s flow.
Run, rabbit run—
Just like a gun!
Run, Rabbit, run—
Shadows closin' tight,
With a hunger for a bite.

Run, Rabbit, run—
Before the Raven
Finds your casket.
Run, Rabbit, run!
The Sun will guide you.
Run, Rabbit, run—
Before the Hunter
Strikes down!
Run, Rabbit, run—
Before time runs after you!
Run, Rabbit, run—
Down the river,
wild and wide,
Through midnight’s mellow song,
dark and long—
Yet all paths twist and lead you back
To the tangled track,
the final fight,
To the fading song,
to the edge of night,
where the Hunter hides—
in plain sight.

To forgive you
Is like playing
Russian Roulette.
A fifty-fifty bet
With one bullet—
Harsh moments
loaded In the barrel of
a silver revolver,
Aiming at my heart,
Still wanting to
forgive you—
Trust you even…

Will it end me,
send me to the coffin
of regret?
Or click away
into nothing?
Tension ticking…

When you called me,
Saying you’re sorry,
I felt so mixed up
in my emotions—
drowning me
with this question...

Do I gamble my life?
Spin the chamber
of hope,
take the shot,
And see what happens
when I forgive you?

Or do I leave the gun
on the table,
Turn my back,
walk away—
and forget you…
Forever?

One, Two, Three—
Hearts pounding
in wrong beats.
Songs blasting loud,
ground shaking—
Illusional spotlights
flashing poor blind eyes—
Guys and girls dancing
and laughing throughout
the Saturday night party.
Drinking the lonely
night away—
Sinking in
shadow’s decay.

Four, Five, Six—
I sit on the couch as
I hear two voices,
clashing in chaos.
Mind’s spinning
through broken
memories.

So many shots later,
Time rapes me,
I can’t breathe—
I begin to see stars,
smiles glow in dark,
my own scars
start to show.
Growing slowly
from my fist to
my right arm.
Then inside the heart—
I start to feel sick.

It’s so tragic—
I can’t do magic
at tonight’s party.
Always swallowed
by hungry holes—
souls grabbing me
under their forbidden
spotlight—
still starving
for something
loneliness
won’t feed—

I fear you’re
not here in this
Saturday night party—
Or maybe you
never will…

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

I
lose my
breath,
I yell for help,
But I lose
myself,
My mental
health’s
Hell...

I write them
down with
a pencil,
Just to ****
the bells
that ring—
Echos of shame,
Names
I can’t
let go…
Playing games
in the shadow…

I love who
I loved,
Though
I stand by
myself…

The wrong
souls
I love—
drown me
In an ocean
of bitterness,
Self-hate—
Tell me they
hate me,
for the
way
I am.

They say
they’d stay—

But they go,
And I grow
cold
and alone…

Still, I’m
standing,
One day
hoping
Someone
will guide
me to hope

Oh, it’s
so “selfish”
to say what
my true feelings
were to you?

“I love you.”

The most
offensive
sentence
I’ll ever say
in this room—

“I need you.”

I see
the voice
that lives
Inside…
Carrying hell,
yelling memories
that were never
meant to be—

Only meant for
me to see.

Lately
I’ve been
feeling lonely—
Lost…
always one door
away from hope
but I’m trapped
In an escape room
with no key.
Always solving
a messy puzzle
in my pansexual mind,
while time’s ticking,
walls closing in—
I’m scared…

Scared to
love someone
again,
scared to lose
loved ones,
scared to
lose myself,
scared to
ask for help…

My heart see souls,
not shapes,
not frames—
But more pink
and yellow Ink scars
bloom across me—
like a cherry tree.
Blue tears fall—
And I’m scared
I’d break apart—
drift into the
lonely dark…

Poetry is
something
I speak…
almost as if
I can breathe,
be me for once,
be free to love
without shame.

I’m carving
a window in the
locked room
to let the light in.
I silence the
mental devil
with a pencil
when they rise.

And when
you write,
you’ll find
yourself
aligned with the
words of scars
you’ve conjured—
like stars

And when
you find
yourself,
you don’t
let go

The pencil
you hold
will open
the door
to hope

Oh friend,
I’m “sorry”
I pretend to
be your ******
court jester for
those who
worry too
little.

Emotional chemicals
burn inside.
The air’s tighter,
but I sing out
in laughter,
speak in jokes,
riddles, and rhymes
so you hear me.

I put on a **** show
for the audience,
only to have you
never see me—
not even me.

I’ve been
sick all day,
eyes tired
and hollow.
Woke up
with a ****** nose
and a sore throat.

This morning at 4 am,
I forced myself
to throw up.
I felt so sick
of myself inside
I wanted to cry.
My hair’s a
chaotic mess.
My head aches,
my heart fades
in the quiet dark
as I lay in bed.

My body
ShAkeS
with a cold touch.
The ghosts send
shivers down
my spine,
but my poetic
soul is burning.

All day
I felt isolated,
alone in my
own room.
My problematic
mind screams,
keeping me up at night
with dreams left rotten.

I wanted to
talk to you,
but my voice—
It’s broken.

It’s so tragic—
The Sleepy boy turns into a Sick Boy,
He vanished just like magic.
The clock ticks,
Locked up in bed with chains,
Almost dead in his head with
toxic coughs and sneezes that clogs
His heart that shiver cold chills down his spine.
Eating some blue,
yellow and purple pills on Friday
just to ease the pain,
But the migraine misfits
Kept cutting the wires and killin’ his brain,
makin’ him brain-dead tired at home.
Meanwhile
I’m sitting here against the window alone
in the unknown,
With one empty brown chair across,
Writing a poem to the Sleepy Boy
who’s gone.

So if you’re readin’ this,
Hope you feel better,
Sleepy Boy,
Cuz we miss you--
I guess I miss 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—

Sleepy boy,
Stuck in a dreamy story
In his head as he lies
in his bed of reality,
Seeing the sun
Set and the moon rise,
Feeling trippy in the skies
of his mind,
Where wild imagination
flutter in beauty like butterflies,
and thoughts trapped in a dark forest
of scary nightmares.
haunted by the hollow shadows
that follow,
Whispering regrets and mistaken burdens
he can’t forget.
Making him not sleep,
becoming lost in the deep
Darkness of insomnia.

Sleepy boy,
Always tired,
Eyes wrinkled in borrowed time,  
Coffee smell dances in the air of dusk,
trying to wake him to dreams
he can never quite reach.
Near and far in the hilltops,
Where stars once
sparkled and lingered in dusk,
Glimmering dreams.

Sleepy boy,
The blanket is a map
that guides him comforts
in his journey through
the cold dark nights,
The wind hums a mellow lullaby.
Follow the heartbeat drums,
And it will show you
The hidden path of Peace

Sleepy boy,
Rest will come when night’s anew,
Till then, push through, wander on,
dreams in view,
promise to bloom like flowers
under the morning hours.

White and gray
ink covers the ground,
spilling across the land
wherever I stand.
The wind sings
its frost-tangled voice,
whispering and whistling—
I feel lost,
not found.

I follow the sound
of false hope,
each step sinking
deeper into the snow.
I stumble forward,
struggling blindly,
not knowing
where to go as
it blinds my eyes,
burying me deep
in the night’s snow.

The sharp,
cold wind blows—
sending shivers down,
cutting through my spine,
tearing through
my skin, flesh and bone
with a shadowed knife,
a bitter memory—
a ghost story.

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…

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.

There lies
A Storyteller
of the mountains,
Seeking for answers
from the Hills of Guidance,
Yet finding only darkened paths.

He tells a tale—
threads of what
once was,
weaving truths
in a voice of dead
rusts:

Silence echoes,
Forgotten souls,
Stolen Hope;
Of Fallen heroes,
And Artists and Poets
Hidden In the Ruined Roads
of the Unknown.

Then there begins the
tale of the Hunter.

Broken fragments
of a heart,
A thousand voices
Whisper in the
Bad Man’s name,
Shouting the sentence—
                              
“You must perish and
become trapped in you own
Hellish cage you’ve
once built with your hands!”

Yet he ventured onward,
through the narrow
Rivers of shame,
To the haunted fields
of blame,
Where ancient moments
The hunter holds close,
lost on a cold,
shadowed path
of mystery.

Only the Storyteller
Tells a tale of the hunter
Who hunts the
fleeting creature
of Hope…

Though the
Storyteller knows—
He once was that
fallen hero long ago.

I drink this tea.
I lost the voice in me.
I feel empty.
I can barely speak.
I’m lonely in my mind.
I’m losing time.
I hear the voice becoming hungry, having anxiety yelling at me.
My mind Turns into a Heavenly Hell.
So I write poetry to **** the voice silently
From within.
While I’m drinking my tea to get the
voice of me back so I may speak again.

—“Hey”

hey—

—“Hru?”

I’m…—
I’m not ok today—

—“Oh, I’m sorry to hear”

why…?—

—“well… you’re feeling
******, right?”

yea, but why do you care…?—

—“You said ur not ok,
I’m sorry if I’m annoying you,
I just thought I could help”

no um…sorry,
I didn’t mean to come off rude…—

—“Dude, it’s fine,
I know what ur going through,
I’m here if you need”

see that’s the thing,
every time I hear that,
no one is actually here.
I call everyone I can think of,
and they don’t show up!—

—“Oh..”

I just feel so alone…
like every day I always
fade away, like they
forget I existed in
the first place..—

everyday I text
a lot of my friends,
and they leave me
on read
or give short
little replies..—

—“Well… I used to feel
like that a lot
And I still do sometimes.
But ur not alone cuz I care
and I wanna care about u.
Even if you don’t
feel like it’s true”

u don’t know me—

—“I want to though.
:)”

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.

There was a man
who did bad things.
The people called him
“The Bad Man”.
They say he murdered three—
He lives a land amongst the trees.
He steals broken souls of burden
and hangs them on the Hanging Tree—
Their bodies swaying,
Forbidden momentos,
Burns like fire,
The shadows called him
“The Bad Man”,
Though the bad
was never in his tired hands.

The wind carries screams
of stray memories,
crying to be free.
The Bad Man
who sees the tragic flourish
Dark magic in the midnight of the
Hanging Tree…

The Dead echos the bad,
chopping the heart into pieces
with the Hunter’s sharp axe,
bleeding into the stitched
fabric of stolen trust—
From one who once stood by him to protect.
Now lost in the woods of neglect.

The people called him
“The Bad Man”,
Though he’s trapped—
Lost in the decay paths of the betrayed,
Forever In the Hunter’s Bird Cage.

My mind’s
imagining an ocean
full of emotions
flooding in.
My fingers racing
in motion on
the blazing typewriter.
Clicking keys
like a melody,
every rhythm of word
turns into a sentence.
Then into a poem
of deeper realism
typed on paper
as the typewriter
is blazing like wildfire.
*DING

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.

I walked into a Mel’s diner on Santa Monica and Lincoln Blvd one time.
It was a rainy Sunday afternoon.
The gray clouds surround the diner.
Loud raindrops clashing the glass windows.
The lights of the cars and buildings shine a warm yellow bright light in the dark skies.
The cold breeze sends chills down my spine through my sweater.
As I entered into the diner with a warm air, welcoming my face and skin.
A smell of greasy burgers and fries being cooked by a chef,
who looks to be in his 40’s or older.
I hear groups of families talking and laughing.
A couple in their teens kissing and cuddling together against the window of the booth.
A Jukebox is playing a song called “The Chain” by Fleetwood Mac in the back.
And there I see an old friend, Allan, sitting in one of the booths, drinking his coffee.
He was excited to talk to me since we haven’t seen each other in ages.
I met him, gave him a hug and sat down.
It’s been a while and something has reminded me of the things that hurts me.
But I try to smile through the ghosts of the past.
The ghosts of pain and sorrow.
“Rainy, isn’t it?” Allan replied.
“Yea…” I sighed, dripping wet.
We sat there for a bit and talked for what felt like hours.
Tried to catch up with our own lives.
The atmosphere however felt a bit awkward.
I started to lose myself in the distance.
His words becoming blurred in the back of my head.
My breath becoming heavy.
“You ok?” Allan worried.
“Yea…sorry-I didn’t mean to like…fade away.”
I said as my right hand is really shaking.
Sweating too.
He noticed and said
“It’s ok. What’s on your mind?”
Just then a waiter walks over
And refills my coffee but left Allan’s cup Empty.
“You good?” The waiter asked.
“Sorry but why didn’t you refill my friend’s cup of coffee?” I questioned.
The waiter looked confused and just stared at me for a solid minute.
Then walked away.
“What’s wrong?” Allan asked,
looking confused and concerned.
So…
I grab a pocket knife from my pocket
And gently put it on the sticky table of the diner.
“Please tell me why you have a pocket knife?” Allan asked.
His dark brown eyes looked down at the knife for a minute.
Then looks back at me.
“I don’t know.” I replied.
“Oh come on! Tell me!”
“Ok, fine…I keep it in case…if I ever wanted to go…”
“Go where?” Allan questioned with a look in his eyes.
“In case if I decide to wanna die, okay?”
The diner felt silent.
The coffee felt really cold but the room felt really hot.
Allan looks really worried and scared. As if he saw a ghost.
“Having the knife here helps show me that there’s a way out…”
“Why?” Allan asked once more.
“I DON’T KNOW, ALLAN! I DON’T KNOW!
I felt like I’ve lost hope in my life!
The bitter memories of you and me…
hurts me everyday.
I’ve cried every time but I try to hide it in the inside so you won’t see it.
After I’ve failed to be a great friend, I’ve hated myself…
I felt like every time I talk to you,
Or see you, I’d always think of those moments.
Then I start to sink through…
Life is just too **** hard and
you’re gone…
So it helps to know that there’s a way out…”
Tears start to flow down.
I felt like I’ve drowned in an ocean full of lost emotions.
I’ve gotten up and ran into the bathroom.
The light was grimy and dark.
My right hand is shaking in the worst way possible.
I look into the cracked mirror. I see myself, broken…
Then I see Allan behind me, worried.
“Hey…” Allan spoke, trying to comfort me.
We then sat on the bathroom floor.
I can see the crooked man in the mirror.
“I’d wished life has gotten better, but it has gotten bitter each time I’m alone.”
He then hugs me close as I began to cry.
“I know…and I’m sorry.
I’d wish it didn’t turned out how it happened.
Sometimes we feel vulnerable.
We struggle with the problems that occurs
out of nowhere and we crumble.
Hell, makes you feel uncomfortable because
you think of the painful regrets in your head that plays over and over.
Then it leads you into this.
This hateful self you feel because of what you can’t control.
But I want you to know this…
You are loved. You will always be.
And being alive today is the most strongest thing you can ever do!
Don’t let that crooked man **** you.”
He then grabs the pocket knife from his jacket.
“Can I keep this?” Allan requested.
“Y-yea…you can…It was yours anyways…”
I spoke quietly, trying to pull myself together.
“It’s ok, I will always be here.”
He said softly as he points at my shattered heart.
A few minutes later, I walked out and sat down.
“You okay?” A waiter asked.
“Yea..sorry” I said and handed $20 dollars
To the waiter and left Mel’s Diner.
I went outside across the street in the rain.
I saw Allan one more time in the yellow warm light of the window.
Then a truck passes by and I don’t see him anymore.
I hope he’s doing ok high up there.
I’m glad I get to say “hi” for the final time.

There was a man who can see clearly.
Both the sunshine and darkness.
“Cut my eye that sees darkness.
I want to see the sunshine more”
The man said to the Doctor.
And so he did…
The man immediately left
to fulfill his destiny to be happy.
To only see the sunshine.

There was a man who can hear clearly.
“Cut one ear that hears pain so I can
Hear the joy and laughter once more!”
The man said to the Doctor.
And so he did…
The man leaves as he hears
the Illusions of laughter and joy.
But the man doesn’t know the confusion
that lies.

There was a man who can speak.
“Sow my mouth closed! I don’t want
The lost voices to sneak out!”
The man said to the Doctor.
And so he did.

Then there was a boy
Who has one eye,
One ear,
And a sewn mouth.
He grabs a piece of paper.
He writes
“Give me an eye that sees darkness,
And ear to hear the sorrow that follows,
And cut my mouth open so I may speak out…”

“Why?” The Doctor replied.
Then the boy writes:

“If the truth hurts.
Then kindness must be a lie.
And if I sit there silently with these lies and Illusions,
What would that do if we don’t take the time to embrace
The pain and bitter memories that lies beneath me?
To speak out the truth of that false love and joy
that we fake ourselves to cover the heart that bleeds,
instead of treating it properly?

And at the same time…
How can I write poetry with these
angels of the shadows that sings mellow songs
and tells tales of hope that
lies in the forest roads to the unknown, doctor?”

Doctor, doctor
will you help me—
will you help me?
My goal is
to fix that
broken soul.
The ropes tied—
too tight around
my throat,
I can’t stand,
The Crooked Man chokes
the voice out of me—
I can’t speak
peacefully
anymore.

Get out of the sinkhole
before I get buried alive
inside that casket
full of razor blades
and inner hate.
Break the loophole
of being trapped in
a small fishbowl—
Drowning.

Trying to start letting go
before I lose control—
it’s hard
when a ******
of crows echo
where I follow.
It’s hard when that ghost
kills what I still hold,
It’s hard to not
know where to go,
It’s hard to carry
my heart with a hole.
Doctor doctor,
will you sew it up—
Sew it up?

My goal is to
not feel alone,
My goal is
to find home—
Crawl to hope
before the
black hole
drags me in
again.

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.

The Sun dies
And the Moon rises high.
Dark dead trees dancing away
To the mellow song.
Crows singing through the darkened
forest of dusk.
The Foolish Dreamers follow the path.
Where lies the Hunter,
who lives near Blood Orange Valley,
Where the wind of feared children screams
in pain for peace as the sun bleeds
against the cut fields.

The Hunter lives in the forest
amongst the Shadows of Judgement.
He wears a hollow mask of a bear,
To scare the Spirits away who tear the
face of a Castaway, covered with scars.
A teeth of the beast,
Worn to be protected of fear from afar.
Striking down the dead trees,
His axe raised high,
shoulders heavy as stone,
Each swing echoes,
a crack through the bones
Of diseased trees and roots
of Blood Orange Valley,
to clear the path for the feared ones who suffered.
Fur boots crunch the ground paths
as he voyages forever more.

The Valley bleeds red,
The Hunter’s own scar
runs deep in the dead forest.
The Valley and he,
both carved by memories.
He carries the tokens of broken luck,
Mementos of fallen dreams that scream.
He listens to the song sparrow echoing,
Of the long river flow to follow the path of Hope,
whispering stories of ancient fights,
lost hopes, and strange, forgotten nights.
To this day, the wind hums the heartbeat drums in
Blood Orange Valley,
where lies the Hunter who hunts for Hope.

The irony of
what I just said—
I care for those
who willingly
****** themselves.
I beg on my knees,
pleading you to stay,
saying how much
I’m scared
to lose you.
I don’t want
you to go away—

Yet,
I never cared
about wanting
to die myself

There beyond
The Hidden Valley,
lies an orphan—
Found and forgotten.
The orphan marionette,
controlled by
many strings of
broken hearts and
woven threads of
stolen dead souls.

Once Found,
now forgotten—
Once held,
now discarded—
Cursed and alone,
unraveled in shadows
of endless, empty
field roads.

I,
The Sage fool,
Am trapped
in a birdcage
Of lies,
Aged away
in this wooden
stage,
left to decay
As I entertain
The ones who complain,
The ones who don’t know
When the curtains close,
I go into rage—
Because I can’t get help
When I hate myself.

Memories inked
in bleeding words,
Filling every page,
Ready to fleet away.
A chapter of stories I keep,
hidden deep in the
basement mind,
worsened everyday
With unkind echoes
As I listened.

While I,
The Wise Fool,
Forced to wear
A fool’s masked grin
to deceive,
To hide what’s real in me—
Like a trick up my sleeve.
Used my talent
To inspire the
ignorant—
They **** my hope,
Shove a bitter
pill of judgement
down my throat
To keep me on silence,
Yet I still stand.

I am the fool,
The entertainment,
I am the sage,
A wisdom they fear
but never lamented.

I’m the fool
With a smile,
But throughout
my wise miles
I played their games,
My wisdom blazes in
their mocking flames.

The Silence is Silent.
The loneliness is
a sharp knife,
ready to cut off
my wings

The Silence is Silent,
Though the screams of pain—
so loud and unbearable,
It broke me.

There was a silent boy,
Who used to have a lot of joy in his heart.
Until he fell apart.
The boy’s emotions were toyed by the bitter moments.
Life destroying him little by little.
Problems yelling in his head,
Even though those negative thoughts should’ve been dead already.
But the silent boy still stands there silently…