Lost

Buffeted by a black fog,

I hear disembodied noises,

cars, bikes whooshing past,

somewhere I cannot see.

I struggle alone,

willing my feet,

forwards? backwards?

in place? in time?

Fighting my weariness,

knowing that if I stop,

I fall off the hamster’s wheel.

I run this rat race,

rat marathon.

At the finish line,

I have been promised

an exit sign.