behind those doors

you have unopened doors? I have bottomless pits in the middle of my floors. Floors made of reflective glass- sympathy for the girls with the skirts. I've got a bowl of piping hot popcorn for movies with the loose, with the losers, with the lovers- kissing in the final 2 rows, for the kids that just can't calm down and watch the glaring white subtitles. the movie doesn't have a theme, it doesn't even have a title, but we all laugh at the cast...because we are mere castaways, toss on my glass floor. toss off the side of the sinking raft. I toss my beerbottle of the side of the idle boat. now thats something to call you're friends about. wirecoathangers in case we have to get back into the car in the middle of the night, in case we dont have anywhere to sleep. in the rare occasion that we do meet in the minimart, let's just pretend we don't know each other and confuse everyone we are with. let's create a make believe world behind those unopened doors you talk about all the time. the doors that you told me we could hide behind, where you keep those boxes full of this-that do-dads, and forget-me-nots. But I want to forget a few things, so I guess your motherfucking doors don't work to well during the trainride home when the music can't get any louder and the words in my book can't get any longer, and the beauty sitting in front me can't drip with anymore of that oil that came from her canvas. I have these floors- you should really see them sometime- the are all glass, not one streak or handprint. I promise not to push you into the pits, or knock you on your knees so the glass crack and the shards tear your shin skin. I never lied before. But then again, you never told me what was behind those doors...