My Mind, A Maze

A house of mirrors, cracked and vast,
where shadows flicker, shifting fast.
A thousand doors, yet none reveal,
the truth I chase but never feel.

The echoes wear my voice like skin,
yet when I call, they breathe within.
Each thought a river running wild,
both chained in time and free as child.

Turn left, turn right, yet still I spin,
a spiral carved in walls too thin.
Each step I take, the path unfolds,
yet all directions turn to old.

The corridors are etched in gold,
but touch them once—their warmth runs cold.
A whispered voice, a distant light,
both taunt and guide, both wrong and right.

The center calls, but where it lies,
is lost beneath the woven skies.
No key unlocks this tangled spine,
for every lock is self-designed.