The Rabbit Hole

Inside my heart,there is a place,called the rabbit hole.

Do you hear the echo?I am still here,having forgotten why I began.

I do not want to have nowhere to hide,I am not afraid of being overlooked,I only crave a pause from being brave.

The rabbit hole has ten openings,nine of them are blocked up,the one that remains cannot be seen clearly.

Still lost on this road,filled with the jeering of fantasy,serving my sentence, brains dashed upon the ground.

Silently counting the second after next,is this spinning a cocoon to bind myself,or will it be breaking the cocoon, reborn?

A dark cloud drifts lightly past,it is not announcing that rain is coming,it has only set its heart on the calm before nightfall.

I was always one who comes and goes alone,walking between the two ends of a rope,straining to keep the balance.

The original dream is too lowly,so simply shatter this mirror image,the price is going mad for my own sake.

Only a fool is willing to be a good person,only an idiot gives thanks for being granted a favor,fool and idiot—which of them is the more sincere!

Somenameless surgemanipulates fear and strangles all that thrives.

I do not understand,the lies flying all over the sky,cloning days gone by, only to come to nothing.

There is nothing to blush about,if it is for a naked soul,better to think how to lose control to the full.

Loneliness is the antidote,dodging is the daily routine,self-defense is the cage.

Repeated doubt,excessive trust,turning the tables, toying with me.

Even knowing how it wounds,even knowing it is at the end,even knowing it is already empty.

Still I must strain to say nothing of the pain,still I must smile and say it is all right,still I must pretend composure.

Unadorned feeling—who would care, who would hold it dear,those faces have scattered away.

What is cut off from the world is hope,what cannot be touched is warmth,what shatters at a single blow is impulse.

The sun refracts into seven colors,not one of them reaches the hole inside the hole,unless the earth sinks and melts away.

Later the elk run across the snowfield,palm lines carry on into sea and rime,spring summer autumn winter, all cut from one pattern.

Nothing matters more at this moment,all of it is only a lesson in refining,in order to spare the pointless sacrifices.

The last piece of the puzzle,savoring clarity,has waited, and the answer came.

Walking out of fortress after fortress,setting out the light of the ruins,releasing all that I had clung to.

Turned into nothing at all,then grown skilled at making treasure out of waste,look—the future already.