Phoenix West

I Always Leave the Door Open

I always leave the door open,

A quirk, a habit, just my way,

The breeze rolls in, the night feels soft,

The world outside can stay.

They laugh and say I’m asking for it,

Tempting trouble, teasing fate,

But I just grin, shrug it off,

What harm’s an open gate?

It started small, just little things,

A cup moved left, a chair askew,

Keys misplaced, a door ajar,

Things I swore I didn’t do.

“It’s just the wind,” I’d tell myself,

With a wink and a careless grin,

But the air grew thick, the nights grew long,

And something else slipped in.

One midnight home, the house was still,

The door, wide open as before,

But in the dark, a shadow crept,

That wasn’t there before.

Footprints crossed the living room,

Muddy, not my own,

They climbed the stairs, deliberate,

Each creak, a warning tone.

I grabbed a broom, a useless shield,

Heart racing in my chest,

And halfway up, I heard a sound,

A breath, slow and compressed.

I used to think the world was kind,

That open doors meant trust and light,

But childhood myths don’t hold their shape

When fear walks in at night.

I didn’t stay to see who breathed,

Or what awaited me,

I fled the house, down the street,

With no plan, just to flee.

The locks are changed, the windows sealed,

I’ve learned, now that it’s done—

I never leave the door open.

Not for anything. Not for anyone.