• Soham Adhikari

Creaking Wooden Door

Updated: Nov 15, 2020

The Parapraxis Project Blog

There is a part of me hiding

behind that creaking wooden door.

The door creaks louder when

it rains, a pale white mould growing

in its belly. It sways

with the breeze that carries

diamonds in its pockets, bathing

it in the warm flavour

of the mossy earth. It knows not

how to walk. How to talk.

It stares at the clock,

and stares out. Lemonade stars.

Citrus sighs.

It yearns for the warmth

of cold fuzzy tears.

Mute and tired, the creaking wooden door

watches me fall asleep.

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