Elusive

I’ve been searching
in the blackest maze
For any clue
That might help the days.
Where is the weapon?
My labyrinthine brain
Hides the truth
Behind doors and
Dark hallways.
Get it out.
Get it out.
Am I hunting the beast
Or is it hunting me?
Get it out.
Get it out.
Until the elusive it

Disappears.

Get out.

I feel the need
To flee the scene.

Get out.

Innocence seeks shelter
In the farthest wing.

Oh sweet labyrinthine,
Am I the only one who knows
What could have happened to me?

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Filed under labyrinth, maze, memories, poem, poetry, ptsd, repression

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