Writings of a creature
Beneath the dark torn cloak, shadows
of a specter stitched from fear and plight.
Eyes burn with borrowed menace,
shielding a porcelain body.
Each step echoes hollow strength,
clinging to the cloth’s shroud,
a second skin.
But the figure quivers, silent and small,
a fragile soul, fleeing fleeting sorrow.
The labyrinth twists with its walls alive,
etched with fragments of forgotten faces.
The corridors shift,
reshaped by the weight of memories
screeching their way to the surface.
Shadows obscure each turn,
and monsters lurk;
born of heartbreak, despair, and yearning.
They hunt without rest, devouring wishful whispers
that echo through the endless, shifting maze.
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