By Monica C. Voskamp

I entered and that I regret, 

The room with the pretty red door.

It wasn’t so pretty inside.

It was colourless yet you could feel

The depth of black evil.

You could taste the sound of deep sorrow.

You could feel the pain of grave mistakes.

It wasn’t a pretty room, no. 

It was a room that led to endless

Tunnels channeling deeper into

Dark anxiety and twisted hands of pain.

It wasn’t a pretty room, 

It just had a pretty red door.

Always hope. Always believe. Always love. ❤️

*Photo Credit: https://unsplash.com/@lalasse