The Wanderer and The Hermit

I wander lost
wearing smooth a path of stones,
leaving blood trails
for bread crumbs,
though I know there is no way back
from here.

I saw the White Rabbit
cloaked in black
he cast the bones to
read my past and future
leading me like a shadow
through the Suicide Forest.

The Red Queen of broken hearts,
paints her roses all in black,
she waits upon the other side
offering a pill or maybe the
knife.

A jester masquerades in the
Danse Macabre while the music
of the dead plays
and I searched to find
the stolen pieces of myself
like Osiris scattered to the wind.

You were The Hermit in the cave,
waiting patiently as a sage,
your hands knew how to heal
and you sewed my patchwork soul
together with threads of
your harp strings.