"
Should we just die?
But why?
Our show wanders far and wide— Through bustling streets
And eerie ones too.
Our act brings joy.
We smile,
we dance,
Juggling frowns,
masking tears,
Just to please the lively crowds.
Their cheers define our dreams,
Yet so many burdens
Hinder my act,
With each ticket sold for my demise, Trading laughter for sorrow.
My show, my stage—
A slaughterhouse.
For my show,
It makes me cry.

Yet beneath the laughter,
a voice lingers:
“Not doing good?
Did you forget
That we’re alright?
Mom values honesty, but not you.
You cherish lies,
For no one speaks the truth.
I don’t blame you.
Have you read the script?
Life is generous,
Joyously watching our shock,
For the cruel script.”

The flashing lights reveal my tears,
But I can’t see them.
Numbed by the cold,
with no warmth to cope,
Only silence screams for me.
I can’t accept it,
but the show must go on,
Because that’s what actors do—
Performing life and death
until night bleeds into day,
Just to please the crowd.
But I’m no fool,
so I bow.
I want to retire,
but they crave more—
More from my foolish act.
I wear my mask and smile,
So light yet so heavy.
I hate it,
But you tell me,
We’ll be fine,
For lies keep us sane.

My mind is a friend I never asked for.
Even if I’m mute,
you speak for me.
You love to act, right?
Playing life—
Left and right,
Far and wide.
I am proud of you
For enduring.
See that light?
Yes, I want it,
That act I can’t perform—
It’s hope,
But it feels too far,
too hard.

Lost in my head,
My only paradise,
Teetering between hope and doubt,
As bright lights
And trembling legs
Make my script fall,
Expecting me to embrace death.

The actor’s mask fell,
A broken man,
A wounded soul,
Waiting to be loved and heard.
Yet the crowd goes wild.
Awe and shock flash on their faces
As I cry on the ground,
Waiting for help.
They cheer and celebrate my fall,
My painful act.
Each applause stings my heart.
I’m scared, alone,
But you keep telling me to dance—
DanCe!
DAncE!
DaNCe!
They love my mask,
My act, and lies.
They want the show to go on and on.

I can’t take it anymore.
It’s too dark to see.
The only light I find in despair
Is the ending script,
A final curtain call,
And the credits roll.

Here and now,
Ready to end it all,
My only friend,
My lies, my head Screech their plea:
“Don’t leave me be.
The show must go on, right?
There’s more to act.
See life’s script—
Someone will perform your cherished truth,
That we are loved and cherished.
So keep lying and wear your mask until then,
Don’t do the final act.”

It deafens my ears,
Waking me from the brink of demise.

I put my mask down
And read my script.
I cry all night,
Alone,
But I read hope.
That’s how long the show is,
how hard life can be
When you hide it all
And skip the script Just for an act.
It’s not my first performance,
So I’ll be fine.
I’ll act once more tomorrow,
But for tonight,
I’ll finish my monodrama.
The show must go on,
after all.
"


-Klausyuer: The ****** Poet

"

My brothers and I once leapt like bunnies through this lonely forest,
Giggling like monkeys while swinging from branch to vine.

Granma's rainbow smiles while holding her fresh apple pie,
Scented with lemon and wine,
Lured us from the trees of vibrant Eden.
While Grandpa’s stormy voice echoed, sharp and strict,
As if bruises from needle-like sticks and tics
Were not enough to teach us fear.

We laughed like children from dawn to dusk,
Until we mourned each night,
When caskets lay beneath the six-foot graves.

Dark-veiled clouds gather to mourn,
As raindrops cascade, pouring out my tears.
The warmth of laughter fades like whispers in the rain,
A reminder of what was lost, of joy that now feels vain.

A single soul drifts through the grieving rain,
While the breeze of rotting, lemon-wine-scented pie
Entombs me in ice,
As I shiver in dismay
At the sight that they died.

Now reminiscing alone, aimlessly wandering
Down the withered Eden,
Where we once strode hand in hand,
Keeping me in the secrecy of mourning lilies,
As the regretful forest drags me back,
Lost in the haze of time’s stagnation.
"
-Klausyuer: The ****** Poet

"
The simmering sand massaged my feet
As I wandered along the slumbering shore.
Waves swayed back and forth,
Gently caressing the grainy beach.
The lemon-scented breeze tickled my cheeks.

Gazing upon the glistening sea,
Where corals mimicked the galaxies,
As the sun walked in, spreading its warm smile
Throughout the galloping tides.

Fishes burst forth, their scales shimmering sunlight.
Seagulls squawked and soared above,
While ***** clicked their claws in the rustling sand,
In cheer for the golden dawn.
"

-Klausyuer: The ****** Poet

“The moonlit longing rose as the sun set, Caesar’s knife of regret stabbing my back through time. I screamed like thunder at what could have been, bleeding my unfulfilled dreams, my heart devoured by choices made.”

“My heart sounds the horns of war. My soul shouts its battle cry, standing on the cliff’s edge, gazing at the stormy seas. I mounted my warhorse, ready to chase the unknown."

“A book tells tales, from the hero’s journey grander than my days to Romeo’s kiss with Juliet. Truly a Pandora’s box, reminding me of the demons I raised. Each alluring word stabs my back, a painful reminder that I have no tale to tell”

“Medals hold no honour. They hang around, breaking my neck. Certificates? Just toilet paper to wipe my sorrow away, promises of glory crumbling like dust.
Lies of a fly buzzed by on the sky I once thought was mine. They offered hopes and dreams, but I watched my life wither away beneath their weight.
The putrid stench of delusion tarnished my honour as I helplessly tried to cleanse it with my own stained hands, my clothes heavy with the dirt of regret.”

“Third time’s the charm, the luck to end my aching heart,
Yet it still bleeds, longing for the bird to nest within my hollow heart.
My hollow heart blinded me, yet it screeched its desperate plea
To the bird who never perched on the bed of roses.
Yearning to break free from the allure of her wings,
I pleaded, ‘I gave you all I had—will you spare me your song?’
With winter’s breath, it sang to me, cold and selfish,
Now I know,
Shes not meant for me.”

-Klausyuer: The ****** Poet

"
Rowing through dishevelled bones,
Drifting toward the Undying Halls,
Where the ****** poet reigns,
Composing odysseys of muted souls.

Tombs of heroes line the bleeding stone,
Each crypt houses ballads unsung.
From kings who soared to touch the sky,
To peasants whose hands tilled the earth’s damp soil,
Chiselled on each grave, a forgotten name,
A parable of life, a courage for a story.

Walking through the rubbled road,
Where monarchs and peons once carved their fate.
As angels and demons danced in delight,
Celebrating the fleeting joys of life,
Their smiles once illuminated the gloomy skies,
Now cast shadows in the creeping dread.

Creaking trees bow in the eerie breeze,
Stray ghouls and ghosts drift through the air,
Wounded and lost, still searching,
For the poet whose ink grants peace.
Among the crumbling stone, his hands unyielding,
They come to voice their regretful pleas.

In the garden of silence, they listen,
Bathed in awe as they linger,
Where the ****** poet grieves for each soul.
His quill sways, memories behold,
Etched in every word he writes,
A soul’s forgotten pain—
Every stanza, a homage to their strain.

With each stroke of ink, a life reminisced,
Unshaken, the poet will write until the final tale is told.
Alas, they rise in bliss as the poet weeps,
For a soul, at last, shall find its peace.
"
-Klausyuer

"
Should we just die?
But why?
We’ve wandered far and wide—
Through bustling streets,
And eerie ones too.
Vibrant places,
So fun,
Our happy home,
Now a crying home.
It was joyous while it lasted—
Lively school,
But it teased our death.
Our dreams aren’t here.

Did you forget
That we’re alright?
You love to lie—
It’s not what your mom taught you;
It’s you!
Life taught us,
Stole from us, gave us.
Life is rich,
Life is poor,
Life is my friend,
My only foe.
Who handed me
This rope?

You're greedy, right?
Hoarding life—
Left and right,
Far and wide.
You can do it.
See that light?
It’s too far—
Too hard.
Alone,
I’m scared,
Help me!
It’s all in your head.
You’re alive, you’re fine.
Just keep going,
You’ll get there—
I am here.


But it’s too dark,
I can’t see.
Too cold,
No warmth.
Too silent,
I can’t hear.
I’m sad,
But I want to smile.
Alone,
But I need a friend.
Dying inside,
But I want to live.
You see? You’re fine.
Because you tell a lie
All the time,
So you’ll be fine.

Who are you anyway?
The one who mocks—
Talk, stalk.
My foe,
My friend,
Lies,
Truth,
Life,
Death?
Who are you?
You’re in my head.
Get away!
See this rope?
I’ll be hanging around...
I smile,
And I wave,
My goodbye.

Wait!
You’ll leave me alone?
I’m your only friend,
Your sanity,
Depravity,
Hope,
Despair.
I am you,
My lovely child—
It's too early
For you to die.

We’ve come far and wide—
There’s more to steal from life,
The one who stole our love
And our hope.
Let’s keep lying.
You long for the truth, right?
That we’re not alone,
We are loved,
We are cherished,
We matter.
So keep running!
The light is too far,
But we hate the dark anyway—
Let’s keep lying,
Dying,
Reliving,
Living,
Dreaming,
Chasing
The light,
To steal back my hope
And hear
Our cherished truth.
"
-Klausyuer The ****** Poet

"
Tossed aside like broken toys,
My heart crumbled down to dust.
Alone, ready to die—
My reaper has arrived.

Our gaze met,
Cold and hot—
Mirrored souls,
How nice, how noxious.

Your scythe pulled me in so close,
A daring move;
I cried in joy—
How lovely, how lonely.

I lean on your shoulder,
You let me fall—
A wicked grin,
How cheeky, how charming.

With every step,
I flirt with death,
In your embrace,
How fierce, how feral.

My reaper blushed,
His chilling mist whispers,
A heartbeat sighed—
How cruel, how calm.

In death's warm and dark embrace,
Your chill ignites my lost heart,
Resurrecting the pulse I thought lost—
How true, how tender.
Death gave birth to life.

"
-Klausyuer: The ****** Poet