Haunted
doors tilt to spin walls,
but the no-way-out victim-
hood shifts denials, no way
to get clean, this uninten-
tional roulette, to run
faster around more corners in
more panic to achieve less, yes,
you are the spin, the pill, the drug
in curves of halls that hunt
and yet still falter into fungus, mirrors, yes,
it is you who must press your skele-
ton to your beating chest,
you who must not feel the bones,
none of the bared truth,
zero pitfalls, no chance
to outchallenge the lurking
cellar of risk.
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