There are things I hold on to
But I don’t know what they are
Because I won’t open the door to face them
So I can look at them in the light
I just put my ear to the door and listen in the dark
Barely breathing, heart throbbing, ears hearing
The story of my past being played in the next room
I can never sit long enough to listen to more than one chapter at a time
I only caress and wash the door with tears
I can never reach high enough for the knob
All I can do is look through the keyhole and watch myself through the years
Scratches and gouges cover this door
Carved out by my fingertips
The shavings cover the floor like ash
I sit down and weep in my burnt life
I scream at the door
I beat it until I bleed
But it won’t ever open up
So I can run in waiving a white flag
It just stands solid, robust
Growing taller and taller like a mountain peak
Each day that passes, it gets steeper to climb
I just sit at the bottom and watch it grow
Dodging the rocks that fall from high above
No strength to move or walk away
From the most remote landscape of the mind
Morbidly attracted to this door
I make a bed at the threshold and sleep
Curled up away from the wind and elements
All I can do is quietly lie
All I can do is quietly die
The Closed Door
Published inMain
The deep raw emption radiates through your ink.
Thank you for sharing your mid with us all
Thanks so much 🙂
I look forward to reading your work as well!