Wandering the rooms.They've been hidden for years now
unknown, unopened.
How is this my house?
Who furnished these ancient rooms?
How did they get here?
Sometimes I find rooms
already housing others,
unknown, in my home.
Night comes, breathing soft.
Each time, a new house, new rooms,
yet it's always mine.
What dark place is this,
the undiscovered country,
the map my mind makes?
Why hidden spaces?
Why places I know, but don't?
Why my rooms, but not?
My mind is trying
so hard to tell me something
I'm not listening.
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