Behind the Door

She approaches the plain looking door,

Her breathing is heavy with anxiety and fear,

The door is not frightening looking.

It is simply, a wooden door.

Her fingers fall softly on the handle,

Begging her to grip and turn it,

To return to what lurks inside.

But what is inside?

Her grip tightens as she steals her nerves,

She can hear her heart beat in her eardrums,

In a familiar melody,

She turns the handle.

It is dark.

It is cold.

It is empty.

It consumes her.

No matter how much she prepares herself,

The darkness always consumes her when she opens the door and enters the room,

The memories flood in, penetrating her soul

Making her re-live them.

The blade ends up in her hands in a familiar scene,

She has tried to stop it before,

But the numbness becomes too much for her to bear,

And so she bleeds.

Before she leaves,

She always makes sure to lock the door to the room,

So no one may see the secrets that lurk inside.

She leaves the room empty and cold.

She goes out with friends and chats to fill the emptiness,

She occupies her mind to fight off the coldness that consumes her.

But no matter how hard she tries,

She will always be forced to return to that room,

The room with the plain looking door.