Every Door Is An Entrance And An Exit

​I stumble wearily through the dark

But my conscience steps 

Lead me to placement

Where I find a stagnant door

Its cracking splinters aim at me

In protest of my arrival

And the pungent smell of rust emanates

from the lock

Twisting the knob, biting my tongue

Chewing at sutures I find absent in light

As I pass through,

My saving grace threshold

Finds my awkward footing

And here I stumble again

Wearily through the dark


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