When rats sleep, they dream of the maze.
Nose twitching. Feet about to run.
The walls of the office were slow.
The walls went upward. Their roots went down.
When he faced the beast, he saw only himself:
When the beast saw him, it fashioned itself into a mirror:
When the mirror broke, it shattered:
The walls of the office were heavy, like the walls of the building were heavy.
Then, years ago, he had cried, while they drew blood from him, and did no longer.
(Liar. Julie had proven him one.)
In the center of the maze, it rested
In the center of the maze, where they battled,
In the center of the maze, with no names
They dreamed.
.
.
.