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Vanessa Fletcher


Bolton, England, UK

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The Door


Vanessa Fletcher

Come with me and i'll walk you up to the door,
the unspoken one that screams when touched.
Scales are its paint, blood its dark grease
For its hinges of teeth that bite in the night.

If you can cut your way through the teeth and the nails
and stitch your dreams back in order
you'll crawl to its face and see your own,
for within its frame is a mirror.

I threatened and cursed till the door slammed shut
and for seven long years i watered it well
and tended the cobwebs and stockpiled the dust
but today, i heard your voice from behind its four points
and a fragment of my heart slid beneath.

Hope could open the door
but it's as fragile as a spider's web
that entices you, entraps you and bleeds you dry,
leaving you a rotting carcass, swaying in the wind.