sombre

nemophila wept

1:22 AM — monday september 6th

i was a child once. i think. running. bare feet slapping against the cold earth‚ breath hitching in sharp, jagged gasps. but the ground was soft, and it opened up, swallowing me whole, pulling me down into a maze of roots and shadows. i ran, ran from what? what was it? i don’t remember. but it was there. always there. in the trees. in the dark. it followed me, slithering just out of sight, just out of reach, until it wasn’t. until it was.

now i’m here. now i’m nowhere. stuck. the walls close in, twisting corridors that go nowhere and everywhere all at once. i turn a corner, and there it is—another passage, another dead end. the walls breathe, sighing in low, mournful tones. they know. they know i’ll never leave. i’ll never find the way out. because there is no out. there’s only in, and down, and deeper into the labyrinth of my mind.

my mind. is it mine? it feels foreign, odd. like a place i’ve wandered into by mistake, like someone else’s nightmare that i’ve somehow gotten lost in. i see things. i see faces. they loom out of the dark, smiling, whispering secrets in a language i can’t understand. i want to scream, but the sound dies in my throat, choked off by the fear that wraps around my neck like a noose.

it’s in the trees. it’s in the walls. it’s in me. i close my eyes, but the visions don’t stop. they flicker behind my eyelids, pulsing, growing, until i can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. the line blurs, fades, disappears. i’m lost. lost in the maze, in the dark, in the endless corridors of my own mind. and i’m afraid. afraid of what’s coming. afraid of what’s already here.