Knocking at my Door
Something creeps in tonight.
A memory dressed as a spirit,
hidden from the light,
invisible to anyone but me.
I don’t know whether to open the door
or cross myself and hide.
They always come knocking
when no one else is around.
A voice just out of sight
wakes me from dreams I was barely holding.
I squeeze my eyes tighter,
feel the fear crest like a wave
I can’t outswim.
It follows me—this nothing.
A ghost stitched together from my own memories,
a piece of myself that refuses to let me be.
Why won’t they leave me alone?
These nightmares that visit nightly,
these figures that walk just past
the edge of what I can see.
Nothing serious. Nothing shocking.
I just can’t go outside anymore.
There’s a ghost of my own making
knocking at my door.
And I built every inch of it.