one love, one house

the doors
the doors
the doors are always closed

in my house
the doors
are always closed;
solid, 
opaque,
forgotten,
lonely.

i stand
in the middle
of these doors.
afraid,
confused,
isolated,
lonely.

(everything
is just
so lonely.)

they loom out
like shadows
in 
a stretch
of white.

like blue
in 
a fire 
of red.

like bruises
on
a sheet
of skin.

like metal
in
a field
of glass.

one of 
those doors
is mine.

and i go to it;
and i open it;
and i go inside;
and leave the door
open.

i sit down
and suddenly
i know why
these doors 
are always
closed.

there is 
a gaping chasm
in my waist
through the crack
of that open door.

it is
a hollow
in the planes
of my soul.

it is awkard,
and i wish 
the door shut.

but i cannot be there
for others
if the door
is closed.

so i unwish
my wish
and i see
the loom
of the doors
outside - 

but still
i smile.

The End

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