First Steps #WATTYS2016

The Door

I'm standing here, like I do often,

With a f*****g massive door in front of me.

I don't have the password to open the door, so I carry on standing in front of it,

As if that will somehow open it eventually.

It wouldn't be quite so bad,

If the door was to get into somewhere,

But this door is to get out of somewhere because behind me is just walls and no windows.

The password is elusive,

It's written all over the walls in invisible ink –

Of course, whether or not it actually is, I don't know and will likely never find out.

I keep staring at blank walls, trying to watch the paint on them dry but in reverse – maybe there's a clue underneath.

Maybe there's something to do, something to say,

Anything,

That will open the door so I can see what's on the other side.

I'm trapped in here unless I can figure out how to open this door,

Behind which there may just be countless other doors, all with passwords more and more elusive and complex.

I'm stuck with the choice –

Sit in this room and wait helplessly for things to change,

Or call the door a b***h and do exactly the same thing but with a little more pride.

See, this door doesn't give out lemons like everyone tells you,

There is no chance to do it yourself with the whole lemonade thing.

The best thing to do?

Keep it from rusting and wait patiently until the locking mechanism breaks – if it ever does, that is,

And it may never do so.

There's times when electricity sparks and runs up the surface of the door,

Dancing around the hinges and loosening the grip of the locks,

But rain swiftly diminishes the energy and let's be honest –

I live in England, where the only electricity in the air is from a passing thunderstorm.

I don't know, maybe the door won't budge.

Maybe I will bang at the walls and scratch at the paint until the room crumbles to the ground,

Or maybe,

The door will open

And I will walk into whatever is behind it.