When I look into the mirror, I am more than what I see.
I see the past, I see the present, I see the future...I see me.
I see the ideas and the ideals, the fleeting notions in-between.
I see it all within the mirror, although the mirror, isn't the only thing I see.
I see myself and my old image, I'm nothing special you can see.
I look within to see my reason, and portray a look to pretend I've seen.
But...this isn't a mirror set before me, it's just a doorway next to me.
Two sets of glass, a single person, a dual-reflection for all to see.

I don't write fiction....YET! (:
Dharker Jun 28

This stress
I can't take
no doors
With no way
to escape
wood scratches
nails break
for some help
darkness finds
this a joke
the only humorous
I brought this
upon myself

What I like about this website... I can just freestyle write and wonder after, what made me think to say this?  Answer: current life event - in this case, not about me, but what goes on around me. (Don't take the "I" too seriously.) :)
Alan S Bailey May 24

Getting it all out 2

There is one thing that can not compare with the space that I call
my endless noise free affair.
It's simple, you get stuck here in this
judgement box, very little space, then cornered over someones personal
worries or whatever is really going on down there.

You see, I have this theory that most people are driven by one thing and one thing alone, the idea of hinting at
someones innermost secrets and only
concentrating on invading their own "guilty" space when they are finally home.

Yes, I "did it," whatever, I can never explain, you and your stupid doors,
you breath on them and it's murder just the same. So much for just living life in peace, now we're just running to make sure that the creeps dirty rotten pervert lives are filled with ease!

Zan Balmore May 19

You ever have one of those days
where you wake despite insight
that the pain of
familiar faces
accumulates til the paved walks
and dirt ways
save no blank spots?
Shame, shame falls down
my bare body to a blocked drain
past dye stains, as
all I do of late
is smoke weed and wash, ignore
the front door knocks.

Desolation May 17

People come and go;
Doors close, room remains empty.
All that's left is dust.

Idiosyncrasy Apr 12

it's been so easy
opening doors
and walking away.

No, it's never easy. Letting go hopefully for a second chance.

I slept to wake with open ears.
Let alone, following a certain feeling that led me to believe that I was missing,
To walk a path that led to what I figured I'd treasure most.
A slow walk to me, to you.
Missing the hint that given enough time, all things change.
Learning to open the bright red door without looking back to whom I once was.
Continuing to walk forward with the hint I was missing something.
I convinced myself that I too was a reflection.
That not all footprints are forgotten.
The threshold of a long lasting impression.
Positioned under a wooden frame.
Bulging hinge.
The twist of a knob.
I sort of imagined that it would always be like this.
That self realization where I'd no longer feel I'd fit.
The hinge of an closed door,
That feeling that something or someone is missing.
The perception that time is always on your side.
The sting of a slammed door, sleeping only to wake with a sudden rise.
Left behind in that odd space found between each second.
Pacing back and forth.
The amount of time it takes to unlock physical freedom.
When actuality.
I was the door that stood between myself and what I desired most.
A slow walk to me, to you.
With a helping hand, not all impressions are forgotten.
The blank creaking expression of doors and the ones we love

You are inside that shut doors,
And I am waiting for you to come out.
You just slammed the doors just like everybody else.
Is being so foolish a crime.
I know I'm not that clever
but please for God sake don't leave apart.
I wish I could be so clever that nobody left me ever.
But the hard truth lies beneath the walls
finding everybody better.
Don't leave people,
I can't bear the lonely truth from far!

Doors keeping shutting and I can't bear being lonely once again.
Karisa Brown Mar 22

Hounds curl up against my throat
Like a sinking anchor
Going under!?
He cares again to whisper

Silent sweet satanic hummmms
None like other ones
None like ever before

He wrestles me down
Bellowing screams inside my

Eyes a flutter
Body transcendent
The fear too highly grounded
To ever lift up to another
As I had before

Come sit beside
The open door
Devilish curiousity
Takes over me
As it had
Many moons before

Impatiently ashamed
Too scared
Curiosity core

Release the inner beast
Drums hummms of virgin beginnings
into the wild nature of the earth

Calling you down
Below your very own surface
A small light
You will always hold
To the sounds
Of wanting more

Religious frustrations
A hideaway oasis

Laughter unknowing
Face unshowing

Don't get me wrong, I like elevators as much as the next guy. But there's always been something about stairs that just interests me in a way elevators can't.

If you've ever watched me climb a flight of stairs, I usually skip every other step. Mainly to save time because I live life too fast, climbing stairs so I could slow life down somewhere else.

I have this one staircase where all my friends hang out, less than 10 steps with a door at the top. That door wasn't opened very often, we called it the -- "Suicide Door". Only to find that it was a room where there were tons of stacked boxes willed with paper. But we still hung out on that staircase anyway.

Lately, the conversations that take place on those stairs are less than amusing, we don't laugh about how stupid people are. Rather we rant about who we want to kill in this world, and who's mad at who for thier gender or religion, I don't feel safe there anymore.

I fear if I say anything that I'll be shut down because I don't like people's use of "free speech" when it's used to put people down. And yes, I know, I'm not innocent here. There are conversations I regret saying that I have left on that staircase.

We don't talk about those conversations because we know out opinions are still changing. I may not remember any of this when it's finally over.

We don't talk about conversations we had behind closed suicide doors. But we never talk about the ones we had on the staircase below it. Sometimes that door seems like it's locked forever, and we choose to believe that our staircase leads to nowhere.

I miss the way thing used to be, when conversations weren't poisonous to those who heard the even by accident.

It makes me want to take elevators with strangers. Sure, it would be awkward, but at least nobody would want to rant about people to a bunch of strangers.

I sat by the stairs again. All my friends were there. But the school bells ring and everybody leaves. Nobody bothers with a "see you later" of a "c'mon, we gotta go, you'll be late". They just leave.

I'll stay there for a minute, gather my things, and wonder where they all went.

And whether or not they'd come back.

After all, the stairs aren't all that important right?

And these stairs, out of all staircases, just lead to nowhere...

I haven't been to that staircase in a while. Although the suicide door seems to call a little louder than it used to.
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