Chasing Thoughts

my mind is a labyrinth of memories
voices and exclamations
overhanging darkened paths
through which I chase my thoughts.
Tangled vines creep afoot,
the likes of which have never
taken root in the forests of Brazil
nor the woods of Petalburg
They find purchase betwixt and
between my scrabbling toes
behind my overwrought heart,
in each nook and cranny of
my breathless ribs
and beleaguered soul
and the yarn of words -stilted, halting-
that I have strung behind me
is not nearly long enough
to lead me, stumbling, blind,
back into the sun-dappled summer garden
I set off from.

In short, I am lost.