Knock knock.
I've been knocking on
your door
for a while now.

A question, a haunting thought,
"how long can I keep doing this?"

From a dark corner,
heard a whisper;

"that door will never open
if you have no place to
dwell inside."

My heart sank, like a rock
thrown in a lake.

I already broke my heart waiting.
I don't want to break my hand,
if I keep trying.

I watch them as they go,

flow down my cheeks

to my pillows

to my floor

making a puddle so i can see
my imperfect reflection staring back at me