Tartarus

I'd be lying if I said
"I do not know how long I've been down here"
I remember every second of it.
They did something to me before they locked me in;
I never sleep, never eat, never drink.
I just walk and climb and run
on stones cool and damp,
over abyss and through tunnels wide
crossing ancient bridges and climbing rough-hewn stairs,
passing occasional weathered murals and statutes
depicting things my absent memory flows around
like rocks in a river.

Sometimes a sound like a distant thunder will echo
soft as steel,
my stomach drops and bile climbs
and sweat slicks my skin.
It is always getting closer
no matter how many times I change my path
it always get closer: this I know.

Some days I'll find a room
that smells of life,
the mattress still warm, teapot over the fire,
maps plaster the walls and sometimes
I recognize the handwriting, though not often.
One room had a spear lying in the corner, freshly sharpened.
It may be a trick, or a cruel joke
but even jokes can kill, I remind myself
hands tight and ready.