~Esther Mitchell, 1992 ~
When darkness falls,
I turn this key in a door,
and open a room filled with walls,
each one a mirror, from ceiling to floor.
In that dark, twisting maze,
I stumble and fall,
and in my fear, amidst a swirling haze,
I hear loneliness and misery call.
Each night I pray for dawn,
for release from this prison,
and a chance to move on,
from what has been said, and what has been done.
But in this winding room of mirrors,
no one comforts my cries,
no one dries up my tears,
and I know each night a part of me dies.