Entry 75

Intangible thought becomes physical evidence when written,
so I leave here
a footprint of my psyche:

ZUVAY
OOL DROOZE
NOTH UNDULUS
YAVUZ

I find this thought somewhat unsettling,
yet there is abundant comfort 
in my newfound permanence. 
I wonder.
It seemed I knew, not so. Not so.
Whose voice is this?
Given life by my pencil.
I wonder.
As though I am looking inside a darkened home
 — following my own echo.
Why not?
I’ve got no place else to go.
A crowded hall within,
not so dark as you might expect.
Glass on the floor
reflects celestial warmth 
upon sullen limp drywall.
The creaking floorboards beckon me hasten — 
thoughts upon the origin of a scent — rot is heavy
on the air. Glimpse a dust mote
falling, lift itself over stairs to become
lost in shadow. I follow this ruined hallway,
listening to my own shuffled gate, 
heard once more
than the squealing floor. 
Footsteps reverberate and push.
Push to propagate continued motion
 — the hallway beckons without breath.
I fall further & deeper forward.
Forward into darkness.
Forward into light.
Passing innumerable closed doors
whose contents I imagine
I simply cannot fathom. 
I’ve become lost in this lonely track.
Lost yet I set out straight.
The entrance is a distant memory — 
I mostly remember motion.
Momentary rush of nausea
at the thought of a dead end.

I press on. Still.