Drifting

Drifting through labyrinthine corridors of my mind.
Peering into dark corners,
Afraid of what I'll find.
Searching for a reason for being.
The truth of who and what I am.
Not always liking what I'm seeing.
Of the ghosts who inhabit my private hell.
Scenes from the past, or is it the future?
Who can tell?
My body lives and smiles and jokes.
Is everyone the same,
In appearing just like other folks?
Or are we all but players
In some unknown game?
I want to know rules.
Or is the game us
Just playing fools?
If that is the case
I'm quitting the game.
You can have my space.

by Brian Joseph Dickenson

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