My life isn’t perfect, and I don’t claim it to be.

But how far I’ve traveled down the road of Misery.

I took a left at Faith Avenue, a right on Truth Street.

And now I’m at the address of 111289 Reality.

The directions led me here, I mapquested freedom.

And now I stand at the gates marked “Tragic Kingdom”.

The kingdom of my soul holds thoughts unprocessed.

Undiscovered truth and discovery, emotions unglossened.

Writing is my key to the doos locked, the combination to the code.

And as I embroider these words on paper, I reach closer my soul.

I telepathically convert insomnia into lullabies of poetism.

And here I entrust pain and suffering into my only friend, Inner Rhythm.

So as I stomp, tread, tip-toe through the red carpeted floor of Tragic Kingdom,

I bathe in my own contempt, or tear it down and leave them.

I sensualize with anger, embrace and delve in.

Stoke ego and self-worth, or seduce rebellion.

I knit pick the dark passages of the back halls of my mind,

Where Evil and his brother Good have been cast off and confined.

Behind society standards, warped girlfriends, sins and duties.

Past masculinity, acceptance, curiosity and securities.

Tragic Kingdom is about the primitive side of evolution.

To gain self understanding through the cloud of outer pollution.

Who am I?

My rehabilitation starts off with that one cliche question,

Which can’t be answered with any amount of intellectualism.

Tragic Kingdom tests self search to see if you’re worthy

To stand at 111289 Reality and begin your journey.

This is my starting point, solely my quest of strength.

To piece together hatred, sadness, disgust in a breakable link.

I can x-ray past these emotions, if only I could discover me,

In the dungeon of Tragic Kingdom, where there’s lustful goals and imagined dreams.

This is where happiness reigns, in the dungeon of my human form.

But I lost myself in the labryingth of Tragic Kingdoms’ corridors.

I hold tight to my singing candle, watching the smoking and dancing flame.

But I crash and thrash to the ground, spontaneously going insane.

I scream at the crying walls and my bleeding fists pound the melting floor.

The drooping ceiling caves in on me and the lights burn out till I see no more.

Agonized screams erupt from the blackness in harmony with tortured cries.

Then I stand, dust myself off, and pretend like everything’s fine.

Those screams and cries turn into beautiful, smiling faces.

I greet them with brightened eyes and loving embraces.

We rejoice in the lightened hallway while they compliment my recent status.

And through false appreciation, I stare through their friendly apparatus.

A goddess stands out, eyes meet and a tangible connection is then created.

A smile, a kiss, my Love for her now is insatiated.

But her skin is stripped off, leaving the skeleton bared.

And she screams, the birth of all my nightmares.

Walls cry, the floor melts, and the ceiling begins to cave.

And for that split second with her, I thought I’d been saved.

She was the guardian of Tragic Kingdoms’ dungeon.

But it was a lie, she was just an empty skeleton.

I give up, I let myself sink into Oblivion,

And write another pointless poem titled Tragic Kingdom.