I claim the title of shadow-dweller,

Where children's screams ripple and shatter—

What would you murmur, my silent companion?

And if I admit to being scorched flesh,

Igniting the flames in your nightly ritual—

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What path would you tread, then?

These thoughts swirl like smoke rings,

A dance of madness, a storm unyielding—

Yet these voices guard my fractured psyche.

I wonder when my elusive white rabbit will emerge,

Guiding me down the rabbit hole, twisted and enigmatic—

But remember this: no Mad Hatter is madder than I.