Door

When I walk down the hall, towards the door,

Memorized patterns play out in order,

And I know what will happen

When I open that door,

That white door, covered with paper,

Splotched paper that says what I think,

Says what I thought,

The door gives way when I press,

And I enter the dark the lurks in that room,

At the end of the hall, where

My thoughts prowl,

And that door, that's covered in splotched

Paper.