knock knock

knock knock.

’don’t open the door

when you’re

home alone’.

the knocks are

persistent.

but no matter

how many times

their knuckles

hit the wood,

i won’t open it.

i won’t go to the

window either.

i want to know who it

is,

but common sense

whispers

’then they’ll

know you’re home’.

so i’ll wait

in the closet,

counting my breaths,

until they go away.

it could be anyone.

a friend,

a door to door salesperson,

a man with a gun.

they’re not leaving,

i’m not moving.

i won’t be safe

until

they

walk

away.

who’s there...?