When I was younger I became fascinated with death-
With Emily and Edgar my expectations were met-
I elaborated about it on every stanza and verse-
If you wonder why, it's because it satisfied my readers' thirst.

I twisted everything, tore through the patches and holes-
In the comfort of my pen I created a labyrinth of souls-
You see every time I enter a door sometimes it'll lead to a wall-
Solid, patterned bricks that stand eight feet tall.

Solitariness became my redemption, my friend and my curse-
But you know I didn't mind as long as everything didn't turn out inversed-
My hands were never on the brakes so I couldn't step out-
I didn't see the hazards set all throughout.

Being locked in a limbo all this time along-
Even the mockingbird's songstress sneers at me through her song-
I'm supposed to be devoid of emotion and punishment-
But can't you tell I'm counting the hours before my banishment?

The empty room with its white, white walls is making me bored-
How long have I been here without my own accord?
The real me is being wiped out, being wiped clean-
But will anyone notice I've always been in-between?