Ghosts of The Unbroken.

By F Lalthanliana ( t.f. )

A circle turns endlessly within itself,

silent and whole,

its edges soft but never breaking.

I held a thread,

an escape I thought was mine,

but it unravels,

disappearing back into the pattern.

No cracks, no doors,

just walls pressing gently,

reminding me I am held

by the boundaries I made.

A maze of fleeting thoughts,

each step a question,

but the answer is always the same,

woven in patterns I can’t unsee.

I stretch, I pull,

but the line stays taut

not even I can unravel it.

The exception remains a ghost,

slipping through my grasp,

as I stand still

in the rule I can’t escape.

By F Lalthanliana ( t.f. )