Cycles

I stare at the door

Imagining myself turning the handle

The cold metal in my grasp

I even can hear the subtle click

But still,

I stare.

I see clothes flying

Soaring through the air

Like birds with broken wings

Descending as quickly as they depart

I hear a low voice

Picking up intensity

Holding my very being by the throat

I feel my lifeless body

Flopping to and fro

Before becoming airborne

Hands—

Like shackles

Holding me captive...

I grip the doorknob

Squeezing my eyes shut

As if mere force,

would drown my nightmares

The voice only grows louder

Hatred personified

I am a terrified child

Desperately looking for my haven

Hiding from consequence

I wake with a jolt

Instinctively reaching out

I feel a warm figure

Brush my naïve fingers

And suddenly it consumes me

I am catatonic

But my heart begs me to relax

I’m in a familiar place

I don’t dare disturb him,

As I exhale my anxiety

my mind becomes foggy

I see that door

And watch myself open it,

Again and again.