Awkward and trying to cope,

I struggle with my existence.

Who am I?

What am I?

Identity crises,

And social anxiety?

Confidence,

Like smoke,

Slips through my fingers,

And I cannot catch it.

Seeking through the cards,

My answers remain shrouded,

Behind a veil of transparency.

There is nothing;

I am mute.

Where do I go for guidance?

Trees I am too frightened to climb,

Reach higher into the sky,

Making my aims all the more difficult,

To reach.

Escaping into other worlds does not,

But deter my wishes only further.

Distractions, yes;

But disappointment will encroach upon said wishes.

I say I’ll try;

I rarely do.

The tea leaves will not assist my efforts,

Despite their constant presence,

In the bottom of my cup.

Alas; fair Merlin,

I am stuck.

Servant of St. John,

Won’t you acknowledge their silent words?

They try,

But to no avail.

The Magician will no longer.

The World has turned it’s gaze;

Again, they try.

But still, to no avail.

They are losing Temperance,

Are they not?

It has begun walking a hidden path.

In a desert of dark sand,

One finds them-self in an expanse of time.