Name

This liquid-like moon is artificial enough to splash through the cracks in the floor,
and that mocking smile is just enough to hurry the others away.
When you drop out the window and spread the sheet music, it becomes your wings to help you fly.
The notes croon on the wind and the two clefs craaash together as a pair.

You fall towards the ground and pass right through it.
Such an encounter you've never felt before, but the moment was as exhilarating as the rush of magic.
You come to a stop beneath the ground and can hear the people above.
Fireflies swarm about in this box and they light the walls surrounding you.

You howl to the people up above your head to liberate you, but no one hears.
Their footsteps echo in the closed room, like a stampede of presences.
The air is still, yet you feel a stir, and then your lungs draw close.
A knife appears and whizzes by your face, so you jump away.

Everywhere is arms erupting from the wall, straining towards you.
Their fingers just barely graze your face, each towering over your head.
You settle to your knees, so they can not grab a hold of you.
Searching, you look around for an exit, an escape, a door.

You know this room is different from the previous ones.
Wooden furniture line the walls, and they are clouded with photographs of many people.
The arms are now receding into the wall, and you study the pictures more carefully.
Dust lines their surfaces, and they are untouched, but every person is not looking at you.

You circle the room, at every angle and slant, but still the eyes do not follow you, notice you.
You wail, hurling a pillow at the bookcase in the back corner.
Books fly to the floor upon impact, and their pages whistle like screams.
When they come to a strike on the solid ground, and fall open,
the insides are blank.

Blinking, you pluck up the book, and close it, fingering the rough spine.
You try to make out the title, and look closely in the lackluster light.
Your eyes widen, and your handclasp on the book is released, but gravity does not take its toll.
Each book flies up around you, and scurries through the ceiling.

Each book has the same title, and the letters that weren't there before are now on the papers.
All those letters fall off the pages, and tumble around you.
You stagger back against the wall in terror, and bend down.
You pick up the letter-pieces, place them together, and read your name aloud.

This is seriously incredible. You're SO talented. The only thing i was confused about was one of the first lines: "the liquid-like moon is artificial enough to splash through the cracks in the floor". How would something be able to splash through cracks in the floor just by being artificial? I don't know it just confused me a little. Everything else made my jaw drop. You explained everything so perfectly and I had a SWEET image in my head because of it. It kind of reminded me of a music video at first, one of those really strange ones that everyone talks about. Then I imagined it as a dream, or a person going into an afterlife. Then I got a horror movie vibe. Ha ha it was great! You're amazing!

Alleluia! Good work here. Your imagery basically fizzles out after the second stanza, but you have something to work with, at least!

This liquid-like moon is artificial enough to splash through the cracks in the floor,

While I love the idea of a liquid moon splashing through floorboard cracks, the use of "artificial" here ruins it (as the previous reviewer said). What makes the moon artificial, and what does that have to do with it being able to splash through the cracks? This is perhaps your strongest image, so make it even stronger by not clouding it up with unnecessary words. (I'll touch more on this later.)

The notes croon on the wind and the two clefs craaash together as a pair.

I can't take that craaash seriously. Just put it in italics if you want the effect of something resounding, although really it works fine normally.

You howl to the people up above your head to liberate you, but no one hears.
Their footsteps echo in the closed room, like a stampede of presences.
The air is still, yet you feel a stir, and then your lungs draw close.
A knife appears and whizzes by your face, so you jump away.

Here you lose some of the poem's poetic-ness, causing this to read like unusually rhythmic prose. Especially that "a knife appears...so you jump away". There's nothing poetic about that, and it feels odd, even though this is a narrative poem.

Everywhere is arms erupting from the wall,

Er...how about, Everywhere, arms are erupting from the wall?

When they come to a strike on the solid ground, and fall open,
the insides are blank.

This is the only sentence in the whole poem that continues onto the next line. Look-- the rest of the poem has each line ending with a period and beginning with a capital letter, a brand new sentence. That's okay, technically, but that means that practically all of your sentences are the exact same length. There's no variation. It's perfectly acceptable for a sentence to carry over the the next line, maybe even the next two lines. It's also okay to have two sentences on one line. Right now you're trying for "free-verse poetry", and yet are trapping yourself in a rhythmic rut where everything's really close in length and structure. Break those bonds! Set your poem freeeeeee!

Blinking, you pluck up the book

Pluck up the book? Pick up, you mean?

Overall

So, the main problem with this is that you have too many unimportant words. You have some nice images and an interesting story/theme, but it's all being clouded up and pushed away by your unnecessary clumps of words. As someone told me once: those in-between words are cluttering up your poetry, and they're like finding shards of glass in your slice of cake. Replace awkward transitions with punctuation (semi-colons, dashes, commas, parentheses), or skip them altogether. This is poetry-- use your poetic licence and accept that not everything must be grammatically impeccable. You can cut out words if they don't enhance your meaning.

I'll go through the first two stanzas of the poem to show you what I mean, and if you still don't understand please do PM me and I'll go through the whole thing with you:

This liquid-like moon is artificial enough to splashes through the cracks in the floor floor-board cracks,
and that mocking smile is just enough to hurry hurries the others away.
When you drop out the window and spread the sheet music, it becomes your wings to help you fly.,
The notes crooning on the wind and the two clefs craaash crashing together as a pair.

You fall towards the ground and pass right through it.
Such an encounter you've never felt before, but the moment was as exhilarating as the rush of magic. (I'd probably cut this line altogether-- comparing something exciting to magic isn't very original)
You come to a stop beneath the ground and can hear the people above. ,
Fireflies swarming about in this box and as they light the walls surrounding you.

I'm not here to murder your poem, really. I like the idea, and you have a very strong framework here already. All you need to do is go through this with a fine-toothed comb and remove all the clunky transitions that're just clogging up your imagery. Work on loosening the format, rhythm, and punctuation, and then strengthen your images, and this will be a wonderful not-so-little poem!

PM me for anything.

~Evi