my life so far has been a maze of doors,
a constant background melody of slams
with an accompaniment of creaks,
and i find myself wondering whether
this is a mirror house at the funfair,
containing a single gate i cannot find,
and all those which eventually close,
are just bloated, sinister reflections.

sometimes, the days roll past in a mist,
sleeping hours are perhaps elevated,
i dream of these doors twenty hours a day,
yet in my moments of awakeness,
i am standing on a cliff edge where
i want to walk away but a figure stands,
holding me back and with a word he tips
me over the edge to fall into fog.