but i opened the door

hands wrestle with hair,
thoughts wrestle with me.
push, fight, shove.
blood pours from unseen places.
no one notices.

a knock sounds on the door of my mind.
“go away.” i demand, tiredly.
“let me in.” the voice is familiar, yet still intriguing every time i hear it.
“no, go away, i told you to leave.”
“you didn’t mean it.”
“yes, i did.”
another knock.
harder.
“i have something you might want to take a look at…”
“no, you’re lying.”
“ah, but can you be sure?”

i can’t.
he knows it.

i open the door.
and he dines with me, he talks with me, and then he beats me bloody, leaves me for dead, and then sleeps in my bed while i lay on the floor downstairs dying.

i should have never opened the door.