I may be out, but I refuse to leave the door open.

I refuse to feel restricted,

suffocated,

silenced.

How is it that a door can be both an escape and a sentencing?

I was the lucky one, surrounded by blissful ignorance.

Behind that door I was free to explore the world.

Behind that door she was a prisoner, slowly being executed.

You filled her head with thoughts that you had so perfectly and meticulously sewn together, they seemed familiar rather than foreign to her.

You gifted her with the guillotine and beckoned her to silence the pain you were causing all in the name of some higher being.

And althogh I hated it, dreaded the noises on the other side of the door,

I felt more fear for her

of what happened when I left and the door was closed.