It’s seven steps to the door,
across a lava like floor,
flat feet searing
strangers nearing
somewhere out there.

It’s seven steps to the door,
only that and nothing more.
So, to explore the outdoors
I just have to move
across this floor.

It’s seven steps to the door,
for others it would be an ease,
strangers would stop and tease
laughing loudly as they please
if they could see me.

Seven steps to the door,
then out there seven more,
but then I would be
outside with the rest
of this mad society,
with the people
I do not wish to see,
those big barbarians
loud and threatening.

It’s seven steps to the door,
but fear holds me back.
Each step is an anxiety attack,
each inch agony
splayed in front of me.
So, at three steps
I fall back,
foolishly retreating.

Those seven steps defeat me.