I see no past,
no future.
No way in or out,
Only labyrinths
of riddle and rhyme,
With sphinxes lurking
And looming
Amusing, strange.
Seeking ways
to pass the time.
I see no past,
no future.
And thus nothing changes;
I am still sitting here,
In this void of mine.
Stuck in a maze of ink,
the letters
coming together as words
to form prison sentences.
Sleep is distant.
Sanity is a mirage.
And there are no faces here.
Only unending, ever winding
Phrases that lead back to
Themselves.
In a solipsistic haze
I phase in and out
Of knowing.
Or believing in
The existence of
anything
Beyond my words.
When thoughts themselves
May even be false,
Who is to say
We are not our minds?
For if we are not-
What then?
If I do not exist
Can my imprints
Mean anything?
Or are you just reading
From the delusion
of your own mind?