Sé que si te veo,
vos me mirarías feo,
y me preguntarías:
¿Así de mierda me volví?

Yo te diría sí,
y lo siento mucho por ser así.
Está bien si me odias,
yo también me odio.

No pude cumplir tus sueños,
y ahora me he vuelto
una simple máquina
que solo reacciona
a lo que le sucede.

Pero dejó de pensar
en su bienestar
y en los lazos que tiene.

Le dio igual sus amistades,
y se quedó solo
pensando en lo académico.

Lo siento.

No soy la persona
que tú querías que fuera.
Me mirarías
y solo golpearías mi cabeza,
y sé que,
aunque estés pequeña,
tratarías de matarme.

Matar a un adolescente
que su alma está muerta,
y solo se volvió
un cadáver andante.

Sigh! It comes like a train — an express line through
my thoughts, no stops, no warnings. Oh how
DEPRESSION clips at my heels, familiar as shadow,
unwelcome as memory. Defeated — like sunlight
pressed to branches too burdened to bloom. My heart
hangs in moss — heavy, strangled in the green silence
of old grief.

Tears lean like leafless trees, bowed in all directions,
yet rooted in a place with no direction — a forest dying
quietly, where even the familiar trails feel like ghost
roads I no longer recognize.

I feel short of worth — like coins counted in silence,
never enough to buy the currency of being loved.
I glow in daylight, but dusk takes its due —
and now I dim with every breath.

I try to speak, but end up forcing books down my throat,
pages crammed with words I never learned to say.
But you’ll never see me cry in public — I’m an island
left off every map, burying bottle messages even
I won’t recover.

I have so much hopeful words for others, but I’m
a stack of unread stories to myself; a pen that dries
before I can name the ache.

And somewhere inside —I find a red box with hidden
compartments, each one meant to hold something sacred.
But they echo when I open them — soft, hollow
reminders that even my soul has forgotten how
to fill its space.

Yon lives a city dearth of purpose,
Surviving with incurable curses.
Glowing green grass grows around.
Water rushes, silent in sound.
White pasty buildings line the plain.
Happiness has left, but the people remain.

In this bleak city, lacking wonder,
The people traverse frail from hunger.
They starve not for food, nor money, nor love.
Freedom is what they’re famished of.
They’ve plenty of company, time, and water.
They’ve anything a city could need to prosper.

But cursed be these healthy beings.
Shown on their sombre skin’s the readings
Of ****** rapacity from their King,
Left with despair and decrepit scenes.

With qualm in their veins, they serve their ruler.
The people obey Him with death on their shoulders.
They carry hope, their lore, and illicit sin
As they stroll through the city with dismal within.

Welcome to the House of Dix,
Where Otto Dix was alive but sick.
In this room, where we play,
Otto took his life and his name.
He hung himself to relieve his pain
And ‘Hangman’ was the name they gave.
His story has been shared for years and, in fact,
It is told that if you enter a match
There is no escape and no turning back.
So, think twice, and do not lapse.

To play his game, it is very simple,
What lies before you: one paper, one pencil.
The Host and Players must gather about.
The Host of the game must then shout,
‘Hangman! One Host...’ and the number of guests.
You will hear a bell that confirms your request.
Each Player is given three hints and three hints only.
Not per hour, not per round, but throughout the entirety
Of the game. If you are out of hints, you may need to worry,
Because no more is given, so don’t rush or hurry.

The Player in turn must choose a letter from the alphabet.
But to stay in the game, that letter must be correct.
If that letter is wrong in select,
The Host must draw Hangman’s body to connect.
Once all six body parts of the Hangman is drawn,
The Player in turn of the game is withdrawn.
But if the Player guesses the game right,
They are safe for the round and maybe the night.
If the Player feels that they can solve,
They should and pray that they aren’t wrong.
For if they are wrong, the Host will not draw
The head, the body, a leg, or an arm.
Instead, the Player is hung and gone.

Towards the end of the game, with one Player and one Host,
If the Player guesses correctly, then both can go home.
But if the Player is wrong, they may turn ghost,
And the only one safe to walk is the Host.

What you see is not a dream.
Hide now before they seek.

Hunger growls, and I listen.
I will be the one that lasts.
Out of sight, no sound given.
You will be the one I catch.

Wind howls; I am missing.
Sky is watching my advance.
Muscles tighten, knees stiffen.
Nightly creatures all in trance.

Screams muffled, blurry vision.
Searing pain — you collapse,
Giving in to intuition.
Knife digging deep and fast.

Two are one in coalition.
Hunger finally satisfied.