Creaking Wooden Door
Updated: Nov 15, 2020
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.
It yearns for the warmth
of cold fuzzy tears.
Mute and tired, the creaking wooden door
watches me fall asleep.