Mouse in the maze.

Looking for cheese as always.

Way to many walls of red tape as always. 

Looking for a way forward that won't get you killed. 

​​​​​​Alone in the struggle as always. 

Can't tell a foe, find it hard to let it go, no help to be had, no point being mad. 

No choice but to. 

Just keep going in the maze, even though everything is a faze, there's plenty that makes you afraid, there's plenty of mistakes to be made. 

Oh mouse all you can do is squeak, and run around banging your head against all the shut doors. 

Instinct keeps you scurrying, emotions are no use. 

There's no emotion from an inanimate containment area such as the maze. 

The search for cheese continues, the mouse does not want to starve. 

But there's no directions to get to the end. 

And the maze is designed, to not favor the mouse. 

Lots of pit falls, dead ends, not my department, only physical harm will be taken into account. 

So the stressful maze, and the stressed out mouse will come a cropper no doubt. 

And the cheese is only a odour a faint sense or sent of forfillment. 

Enough to fool the mouse that there is something to be had. 

To keep the pitter patter and claw and chew at the unbreakable walls. 

Waist the mouses time and effort and life, the maze always wins. 

The mice always die in the mousetraps.