Down the rabbit hole
spewed out

-somewhere strange
and yet so familiar.

Some consider me a poet,
a builder,
an artist.

But I'm just a crazy man no one will ever understand

(read forward, then backward, line by line)

I ran.
Not knowing what else to do
There was so much blood on my hands
It was mine
The kitchen knife
Caught in my chest
Guilt
Consumed by
Fear
I was heightened by
Adrenaline
But running on
Wasn’t enough
While trying to stay calm,
Losing control
It was me that would end up
Dead. Because
He was
In front of me
The whole time
It was too late
Trapped
I found myself
Locked in chains
My fate was
Death.

they say "write what you know"
so here i go:

we painted our walls with words
and kept silent our tongues

until like Butterflies from our deep sleep
we woke to sing-

all the words we had painted
across our wings.