No Place To Run

No place to run, no place to hide,
the footsteps echoing are your own,
pressed into soil you thought you'd left behind,
circling back to the unmarked stone.

There is a vivid uncertainty in your actions,
each gesture trailing smoke and question marks,
your hands betraying what your mouth denies,
leaving fingerprints across the dark.

You've shown us all your antics now,
the carnival mask slipping at the seams,
the laughter pitched a semitone too high,
the rehearsed performance losing steam.

Hide you try, but you'll always be found,
not by the hunters with their righteous flame,
but by the mirror's patient, silver eye,
by the night that always knows your name.

For you are an architect of our own ruin,
building labyrinths with no exit planned,
and the thing that tracks you through the maze
wears our face and holds a candle in its hand.