Head spinning—  
dazed in this stormcloud of confusion.  
It isn’t fog.  
It’s a maze made of color and collapse.

Every turn—  
a new place with no map,  
no anchor,  
just faces too blurred to remember,  
yet somehow still watching.

Voices press in,  
muffling thought.  
Every word I reach for  
chokes in the static.  
Reality fades—  
peeling off in shards.

All that’s left  
are shattered echoes,  
broken memories  
calling from somewhere  
I can’t return to.

Meaning sinks beneath the sorrow.  
Hollowed out.  
Spun dry.  
Still standing  
inside the labyrinth.