# the room with the good lock

I chose this door for the way it closes:
no click, just weight, the frame taking the hinge
like it's been asked to keep a secret before.

Inside — a chair, a window painted shut,
a stack of paper nobody's read.
I keep meaning to burn it.
I keep not burning it.

If you ever get in here,
it's because I let the latch slip.
That's the only kind of trust I have left.