Dazed yet frantic.
My utensil scratched
and shaded and
molded.

The outside world
dead
to my ears and eyes.

Only the white and lead
colored my mind.

When finally the lead ceased
to run along the page
he said,
“What are you writing?”

Writing?
“I thought I was drawing shapes?”

My journey through the smoke
Led me to the other side of the mirror.
Instead of looking in
I was looking out
At all the distorted shapes
Of my mind.

Willingly I walked into the fog
That rose like ghosts from the fire.
The clouds spun me
Until I was lost in the disease.
Puffs of pleasure were past
Engulfing the ever wanting.
I drown in an ocean of haze
Stuck in the daze.
Never wanting to be found.

Gone from the world
Of reality
Brought to the world
Of enlightenment

Deeper and deeper
The fog lured me in.
I wanted to know more.
Mislead to a garden built
Of smoke and mirrors.
The forbidden fruit tastes
As sweet as they say.
Until it rots.

A walkway of pure powder
Drew a line
To the house of mirrors.
Purity never smelled so sweet.
So forgotten in the fog
I emerged in an ash like snow.

Trying to escape the haunting
images in the mirrors.
One illusion lead
to yet another.
Dead end into
the mirror
again,
again,
again .

My journey through the smoke
Led me to the other side of the mirror.
Running from my distorted mind
I found the backdoor
To my escape.