I see you running and sweating. I can taste your fear, sharp and acrid on my tongue, burning my nose like ammonia, and I relish it. I can hear you, your every panting, nervous breath, your footsteps echoing off the walls of my home. Do you know that I am coming for you? Do you know what awaits when I will find you? You must. You must. Why else would you run?
Oh, but there is something I know that you don’t. There is no escaping this maze. There are no false walls, no hidden passages, no light of day. There is only an endless labyrinth and a minotaur, and I am the minotaur.
* * *
This is my home, Do you understand that? You think I’d just sit here and do nothing while you come here and take whatever the hell you want? While you take what’s mine? Is that what you think?
I’ve been watching you. I’ve been waiting. I know the paths you take, the things you do. I’ve seen you, walking around like you don’t have a care in the world. Like everyone will just do whatever the hell you want them to do because they’re afraid of you. Well, they are, but I’m not. You’re nothing. You don’t belong here, and maybe you’ve got the others fooled, but not me.
This is what you don’t get. This place is a pit, but it’s my pit. I was born for this place, tossed screaming and naked into the darkness, and I survived. I’ve seen people die in this place. I’ve seen lost souls wither away. I’ve seen the weak go mad. I have killed people.
This is my home, and I will not let you take what is mine. This is my home, and I am going to find you and I am going to kill you, slowly and painfully. I’m going to stand over your bleeding, broken body, and as your last breaths struggle past your pale lips, you will know that you don’t belong, that you never did.
I am the minotaur, you hear me? I’m the goddamn minotaur, and this is my fucking home!
* * *
they left me here all alone. i don’t like being alone and i dont like this place. its all sand and fog and glass like a bad dream. not the kind with monsters that want to hurt you there arent any monsters here but like one of the ones where you cant do anything. you cant move or breathe or think. you cant get out. you cant wake up.
there’s no one to talk to and nothing to do. there are animals sometimes, but not good ones. snakes and lizards and bugs that wont listen to me and wont play with me not like a puppy or a kitty would. i still want a puppy one thats soft and fuzzy and that likes to be petted and that wants to be my friend. sometimes there are people that come out of the fog but they wont play with me either. they dont want to be my friend either no matter how nice i ask. sometimes i get angry and mean but i dont do it on purpose. i cant help it. then i get sad and then i think that ill always be alone. nobody wanted me. if somebody had wanted me i wouldnt be here all alone.
did you want me? where did you go? mommy why?
* * *
This place, this space is mine. At this point, I can’t say if it was always here, or if I carved it out of the stone, a sculptor revealing the elephant hidden in a block of marble. But it is mine. It has always been mine. There is no question about that.
I can be alone here. I can create here. I can dream and imagine and left to my own devices, I can create works of staggering beauty that I can do with as I please. Create what I please. Share what I please. Destroy what I please.
To be a poet is to be a creator. Poetry. Poiesis. Making. But there’s poetry in destruction too, isn’t there? I believe so. I act as if I believe so. But at night, as I lie and consider these things, I am not so certain. My thoughts twist and fold upon themselves until I am lost, alone and forgotten in the dark.
A person could go mad in this labryinth, wandering its halls and finding no answers.
* * *
I have meditated on the house. Each part of the house repeats many times. There is not one cistern, courtyard, fountain, manger; there are infinite mangers, fountains, courtyards, cisterns. I am the minotaur, and my house is the size of the world.
Better put, it is the world.