so this is how it is:
vast corridors of grey lined with doorways
> the only place I can truly be safe <
towering and caving in slightly at the top, so high do they reach,
musty and deserted and
I roam there, restlessly,
a thousand doors swinging open and shut
like advent calendars, but bigger—an advent calendar you can walk through
an advent town…
some doors have pretty things behind them:
Let’s make a deal, you picked the right curtain!
parcels and strings and cotton candy and faeries
others are a real horror show:
–no one here gets out alive—
cliffs and twisted stairs and garishly bright color and runningrunningrunning, and derisive unintelligible conversation, and one badass dog
worse still than the one horror movie I ever saw in my life
I am Lost
because when life is a horror movie who needs to go find that?
(you make your own hell out of horror movies, besides)
others are places I’ve never been, but have marked on my bucket list as must see destinations, and oh!
I can’t explain how varied the topography behind the doors
from dunes of despair
to peeks of
York Peppermint Patty joy
)freedom from bonds(
(and bonds of freedom)
but I can tell you this:
I can’t be bothered with those doors just now
Roaming that main corridor in my mind—
silent echoes slamming doors thunderously loud.