sometimes,
i trace the locks
that line the door.
they are several
and
they pretend at security.
the air is thin in here,
oxygen tastes like dust
and the wallpaper
droops,
shrinks away from the wall.
(even it doesn’t want
to be here)
it’s a
ritual now
count the locks at night
and double-check them.
the scratch of the keys
is now the most
comforting
sound.
heavy curtains blot out
the world around.
(if i can’t see them,
they can’t see me)
this is home
warm and comfortable
and venturing out is rarely
necessary.
my only company now
is the shadow.
she visits in the day,
tries to coax the locks open –
they are no match for her
spirit-self,
but she would have me leave.
(i would have her
leave)
and so we reside like this,
the shadow and i,
hidden behind rusted-locked
doors.
tuckedintoacorner 
This is incredibly powerful writing!
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*hides, embarrassed, under the desk* Thank you so much.
(Thank you feels woefully inadequate, but it’s a heartfelt one)
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This is excellent, it actually sent a shiver down my spine as I read it, the sparse words and the tension work perfectly, and that phrase ‘rust liked doors’ implies that both the narrator and the shadow are gone from this world…
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Thank you! My pen ran away and decided to add on a bit of a mystery twist regarding the narrator/shadow. I’m pleased it sent shivers down your spine – it’s so cool to get such a reaction 🙂
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It’s cool to read such writing too 🙂
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