It is a dark, dark place.
A door.
No, two.
Separated by an old staircase.
A figure is waiting
At the bottom of the stair,
It looks back and forth, debating.
My mind is elsewhere.
I refuse.
I will not allow it to take that step.
Nor that one.
Nor that one.
I refuse.
I'm too uncertain about that step.
And that one.
And that one.
I refuse.
I cannot reach that step.
Nor that one.
Nor that one.
It's too hard,
It's too much,
It holds the doorknob in its clutch.
Waiting for me to give it the green card.
I've come this far.
I didnt think I could.
The door at the bottom shines like a star.
"Come back"
"Dont go"
"Its not safe"
The figure leaves.
I leave.
It's all behind me.
YOU ARE READING
Monsters
Puisi"A bunch of poems about mental illness" didn't sound great as a title, but that's basically what this is. This is my first book and I honestly just wrote these in my notes app, went "Screw it," and posted them. If these don't correlate to specific e...
