In the town of Tiddle-Tock,
Where minds can rattle, reel, and rock,
A Flicker-Flocker Fix-It Fox
Lived tangled in a paradox.
By day he wore a tidy grin,
But nights were storms that brewed within—
He chased a thrill, a spark, a flame,
That left him hollow all the same.
He’d tiptoe down the Whimsy Lane
To quiet thoughts that screamed with pain,
And whisper, “Just one more,” although
He knew the cost from long ago.
The Fix-It Fox would leap and dive
Through urges that felt half-alive,
A circus act of want and need
That spun his heart at dizzy speed.
He’d promise, “This time I’ll be strong,”
Then trip on cravings loud and long,
And mutter, “Why’s my brain like this?”
While chasing shadows dressed as bliss.
But one dusk hour, soft and slow,
A lantern’s light began to glow—
A tiny spark behind his ear
That hummed, “You’re more than what you fear.”
It flickered warm, it flickered bright,
It held him through the hardest night,
And whispered, “You’re a work in motion,
Not broken gears or faulty potion.”
So now he walks the Tiddle-Town
With fewer spirals dragging down,
And though he stumbles here and there,
He carries gentleness to spare.
For healing isn’t neat or quick—
It’s messy, winding, odd, and thick—
But still he moves, with steady pace,
A Fix-It Fox with growing grace.