A/N: Angsty, slightly mad poem.

Long winding passageways lined with doors.
Always doors.
Behind one is the memory of a great fear.
Behind another lies madness.
Behind yet another is an unnamed feeling,
A suffocating feeling that this is not enough.
There must be more.
This will not do.
It has to be better.
It has to have more depth.
There is a darkness waiting to be released,
To be described and laid gracefully upon a page.
But where?
Doors everywhere.
Which one am I looking for?
There is something untapped here.
Something restless.
I can hear it calling.
"Dig," it says.
"Dig. Dig.
Let me out.
I want to be free.
I need to be expressed.
I'm dying in here.
For the love of God, let me out!"
Tell me which door!
Not this one.
Not that one.
It is here.
I know it.
It nags me.
It haunts me.
It evades me.
Go away!
Stop bothering me!
I can't find you.
I'm tired.
Just leave me alone.
I can't take anymore.

Dare I ask for reviews?

J. Silver