Outside

I know where the door leads,
what lies in wait beyond its opening.

There is a world I refuse to visit,
for doing so will surely cause me to die.

Monsters roam its shadows
swamps cover its landscape,
my heart burns with anxiety's fire,
just to imagine walking out to greet that danger.

Long have I penned my thoughts so faithfully
about all that lurks there,
making me feel so brave that I've taken some action
even though it never carries me outside.

Happily, I keep the diary written safely locked.
It is fiction I weave with fables of heroism,
inventing scenes to avoid the facts
that the day's sun might expose.

Never risking to step passed this barrier
open or not,
why ruin the glorious scribbled with reality?

Darkness' comfort lets me hide
from where my life has gifts I'm never known.
And will as long as I have fear as a housekeeper,
with can't as my butler.