Behind doors I cannot open with keys that never was, i feed letters through slots hoping they would reach him.

I dreamt that he would consume them and one day emerge, whole.

But the chrysalis never broke, and what couldve been never was.

I dance between the spaces you create, the air you shift, my music.

My dad once built a shed out of old doors

Each odd colours he'd collect along his travels, when one grew tired and porous another would take its place

Even the floor was doors

I dreamt of opening them to secret places and posted letters through the slots hoping it would reach them

But they never opened, and all that remained was my father grey and aged in his shed made of doors.

Our souls will remain within the husk of our mortal sleeves, never to interlace, and it shall be a divine and universal mercy