Some people read my poetry
and think they know me.

Some wonder am I the romantic
I seem to be.

Is my life filled with passions,
and mystery?

Is it full of solitude,
Am I truly the lone wolf,
wandering the roads?

Am I carefree, charismatic,
mournful, spiritual, shy, decadent, tragic?

The answer is Yes, and No!

At times I've been all,
and even none of these.

Storyteller mostly, some fiction,
some reality.

And in the end you will see the me,
you want to see.

But that's ok, because,
I see you, and yes I even see me,
the same way.

I wandered deep where the night forgets,
Through shadowed doors in silken nets.
The moon wore masks of grinning gold,
And time stood still, yet centuries old.

A ticking cage inside my head,
Whispered secrets the silence fed.
My thoughts were birds with backward wings,
They sang of clocks and burning springs.

A mirrored sky began to weep,
Each teardrop birthing eyes that sleep.
They watched me dance on fractured glass,
While hours curled like blades in grass.

The forest breathed in riddled verse,
Each leaf a curse, each root a hearse.
I asked the wind, “What path is mine?”
It answered, “All, and none, in time.”

The stars spelled names I’d never known,
Carved deep in dreams not quite my own.
I kissed the lips of reason's ghost,
And drank with fear—a maddened host.

Yet when I woke, the world was sane,
But something laughed behind my brain.
It wore my voice, it knew my face—
And left me tethered in its place.