mind me

perhaps my mind is a maze
and like mapless pilgrims
we strive to nothing.
every turn is a waste
every step is in haste –

leave this place.

perhaps my mind is a page
where the ink has leaked.
seeping through it stains my soul,
cracked and weary,
wrapped around a stone –

you can see the creases of my bones.

perhaps is mind is merely gone
and the people left know its place.
but they keep quiet,
let him journey on
he needs to find it on his own –

don’t.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s