Ariadne

i was standing on the gates of a Cretian maze

hearing the echo of your encapsulated lips weaved shut with the invisible webbing of solitude voice my name

from the damp breeze of that underground reclaim

iron bars wrapped by a thread

the yarn was red because my hands had bled

lighting your path it cut my hands,

a crimson flame.

and i saw you molding with the peeling wails of the wallpaper, 

wilting, 

water here, water there,

i flicked upon your flesh

your skin leaked on the path like pouring flames

that you were saved

but when you left you did not forget me,

like everyone said,

because it was i,

it was i, Ariadne