Another day in this house of mirrors,
the hallways heave with amusement as your eyes are foiled once more…
A trick of the light?
A trick of the trade?
A mind playing tricks?
No cheese at the end of this labyrinth only
the headache that has become your closest friend,
and the signs that could direct you
start spinning like a weather vane
the moment you find passage.
another line of smudges where you tried to feel your way,
your eyes closed because they can no longer be trusted,
and your nose crinkled against the scent of your panic.
The senses you have left are
fluttering like a light dazzled moth,
banging like an enraged gorilla in a too small cage.
not here not here not here…