There has been a riot in the streets
a hustle of talk,
and gossip, and rumours
wonders of who was behind all those doors.

Every now and then
there'd be a new door on the street
a door that leads to nowhere.

Some nights it'd be a nice new door,
with a stained glass window
or a thick coat of paint.

Other nights it'd be just a ratty old one,
looking like splinters held together by the sheer will
of the painter.

The artist.

There have been talk of
where those doors might possibly lead to;
Wonderland, perhaps.
Narnia, maybe.
Hell, some say, coz it's the Devil's door.

I brush those thoughts away
when I watch the brush carefully
making sure to get the details just right.
Been feeling a little edgy tonight.

I decided to make it simple tonight;
nothing fancy,
nothing showy,
nothing fierce.
A simple wooden door.

Some people call me crazy,
scrambled in the head,
coz I paint doors onto brick walls
night after night.

That I do, night after night,
with emptiness and hope,
waiting for the day something good
will break through those walls,
and through the cracks of the doors I've painted.

That the impossibly good will find us.

I stand cold and shallow
under the smallest shine of light
and so very often
all I can do is look silently back at you.

Perhaps I reflect you,
the way, in any way,
your eyes look into mine.

Perhaps in some way, I can feel
that cold burn of anger
seep under my skin
like third degree burns.

Perhaps I always knew
that needle of distrust
lodged in the small of my back
like a gentle touch of a lover's hand.

And rarely, I feel a warmth
break through the cool surface
and into the realm that is me;
whatever I am.

And only then, I realize,
I became.

Like a breath of life,
spring, and a new beginning;
perhaps finally I feel the touch of sunlight
and I bask in the warmth.

Your eyes try to hide
but I inadvertently see it all
the hot and the cold,
pins and knives and the lack of your shadow

I wonder which one of us demands it all back?
Beating against the surface to break it all free.
But never to save me.
To take it all back, and never to save me.

And when a shadow casts over me,
and you are no longer there,
I struggle in the cold
with memories of a warmth

A dilemma,
a constant battle,
a madness
and amidst it all, this mirror might shatter.

A tingle, a spark, a shock
an excitement in the air
settles in my lungs
and surges through my veins.

A quiver, a tremble, a tremor,
vibrations shook my heart,
electrifying, stupefying,
stopped me cold.

A moment so small it was barely there,
but I'd caught it.
A voice in my head
an intuitive grasp at thin air.

My grip so tight, I can barely breathe.
My lungs, my heart.
A moment so small, it had a massive hold on me.
A moment so fleeting, it stayed with me forever.