Poem #312

I knocked on every door,
I hit so hard my knuckles are bleeding.
There was no one on the inside,
all doors were locked from the outside.

Where do you go when the bridges you had
can fit into an urn?

In the dark of the night
I tell myself:
“Monsters only exist in your head”
Sometimes I wish they didn’t,
so they can keep me company.

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