Anything could be waiting
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.