that one right there.

I know I'll walk through it.
Sometimes oak, often iron.
     Always changing.
     With every blink of my eyelids
     certainty scatters to the corners.

If Hell was on the other side
would I still walk through
into redness
ashes for eyes
hands everywhere
rings eating through fingers,
crowns crushing skulls,
every man woman child
elf and ugly ogre
is face-in-hands
and without sense.

Would I walk through,
into a classroom scene
with an evil teacher
knee high
straps and leather
skirt every inch of her
counting taller than sight,
and I demand to be punished
but she calls me out,
says I'm a fool
who doesn't know what he wants
makes me stutter
until my heart stops.

Would I cross that portal?

And what of heaven?

It has no doors,

according to my pen.