Anything could be waiting

for me

on the other side of that door.

Maybe it’s a small dark room, filled with broken mirrors and dried flowers

murdered in their vases- left to die of thirst with only the spiders and rats to mourn them.

Anyone could be waiting for me

on the other side of that door

their fists clenched in fear,

their vision blurred by fear and a scream trapped in their chest struggling with their heart for space in their slowly tightening ribcage.

Should I knock?

Or should I stand here

and wait for them

to come out.