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.

The moment
I look into your eyes
covered in midnight skies,
I realized I started
to feel alive again—
You get it?
Neither do I,
don’t know where to begin—
Was stuck for a while
with suicide blinding signs.
Scared, restless, lost,
feeling like imma die,
yet I survived cuz
I get to see you
through wild nights
that bloom—
Wishing I was
in the same room,
holding onto you,
Loving you…

****, I think
I love you too much—
Too addict,
crossing my mind
like a crosswalk.
Yet too much
is never enough.

I love you

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.

A line I hear a lot of times.
My life—
bitter memoirs,
disappointments,
mental scars,
and feeling miserable
most of my
lonely moments.
Opened my emotions
only to feel vulnerable,
exposed to the
broken cold.

These past few days—
I hate them.
I ache in pain,
I cut myself—
my wounds on
my right arm
have no mouth
but scream for help.

Only to be sent away,
to hear them say,
“It’s not a punishment.”
A line that cuts deeper
than a sharp knife.

And yet I feel
so abandoned
in my own
treatment center.

Oh my lover,
I’m sorry—
I know you
mean so well,
yet I’m not
a vessel to
your empty
self—

Even when
I still loved you
like poison
from a bottle—
We fall apart
like glass.

Oh my lover—
It’s over.
I’m sorry,
I have to let go.
It was lovely
to know you
from the
same room—
It’s over.

I met a girl
named June.
Her heart blooms
like a flower under
the golden sun’s hour,
immune to the dark.
Her eyes shine light
across the room.

One day
she looks at me,
noticed the darkness
burning in my tomb.
The long, lonely silence
that grew louder,
the echoes of neglect and
self-judgement—
self hate…

She reached out her hand,
“I will always stay…I wanna help”,
she said.
I stared at her for a moment…
I wanted to reach out,
wanted to believe,
but I rejected her offer
and walked away,
only to never see her again.
I regret it so much…
I wish I could forget it…
But not her.

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.

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.

There was
no madness…
Yet some call
us lovers
“mad”…

Love can
drive you up
your own walls
and ceilings.
Left roped
and hung
by your own
broken heart
strings—

Sometimes,
Love leaves
the lonely—
Mad Lovers,
behind for
dead…

12:30 am
last night—
I woke up with
a nightmare,
couldn’t go back
to sleep.
My chest felt
something crawling
inside again.
Sharp and cold,
it touches my heart—
And there I
couldn’t breathe.

It chokes me
with a rope.
It hurts,
I don’t know
what words to
describe it—
There’s razor
blades living
inside my throat.

Worse than nightmares
I wake up from—
I started crying…
Fear of losing you
scares me.

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

When I was young,
I used to go to
the museum,
where art was
hung high
on walls—
Higher than
The Hanged Man
on The Hanging Tree.

A painting stood
out in one room,
both beautiful
and terrifying…
The Mona Lisa.

Her essence—
Trapped in her
own framed
prison of hell.
Her skin shines
old gold,
yet etched with
cuts and bruises
underneath Death’s
black robe of sorrow.
Her calm smile
hides a cold secret…

Her dark,
red-veined hair
stretched out
like a river,
yet tangled
down like vines.

Her eyes spoke
her tale the most—
restless and fearful.
Reaching out to
feast attention from
both critics and lost
soul’s eyes,
like Medusa.
I could hear
her echoes.
Almost as if
I heard her
ghost speak
the words—
“Help…”

She reminded me
of my mother…

The moment I look
at my bathroom mirror,
I see bags under
my tired, bitter,
****** up eyes.
I look like a hag
and my heart
cracked into broken
pieces like glass—

Not only I couldn’t
sleep last night from
nightmares and
fears I’ve had.
I lost one friend—
Or two—
Or a few friends,
here and there…

I want this to end—
I just want my
friends back…

Dear critics,
friends, families,
readers, my haunted
shadows and people
I’ve lost alike…

The cold sun was due.
I sat in this very
lonely dark room
for far long,
no way to escape.
There’s something
wrong with me.

Nightmares slither—
visions, illusions,
thoughts to lose you ache.
My right hand shakes intensely.
Reaching out feels
like climbing a cliff—
I slip and fall off
as ghosts watch…
Pain ***** me,
its rope tightens
around my throat,
I feel isolated—
I can’t breathe,
I can’t speak,
I can’t eat,
I break easy,
Anxiety cuts so deep—

“HELP ME”

I want y’all to know
it’s not your fault—
Never was.
You all meant the most.
I love you.

I don’t know if this is
my last ****** poem.
It may never reach you,
may never be read,
may never be found,
maybe forgotten,
lost in time,
or may never be—
My last letter...

-Paul

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…

Piled up poems,
letters left in one
dark corner of the
library garden—
Alone…

Heart’s tangled in
sharp thorns from
wherever I go,
where the cold
moon blooms—

Piled up poems,
buried beneath
the silent sun,
wilting faster than
a daisy’s death—
Unread…

I’m sorry but
I don’t wanna
go to your
Pity Party—
I’m tired,
my head aches
and my heart’s
****** up—

Three shots in
of happy pills,
and already have
so many imaginary
remnants of my
ghostly ghosted
friends and critics,
All dancing
in my lonely
room.

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…