Rules

The rule says—
open the door to what waits outside.
But what do I do
when it speaks with my own voice?

Do you ignore the logic
and reach for the handle,
trying to prove
there’s nothing to fear?

Or do you turn your gaze,
slow and steady,
to the clock that stops
exactly at 2:24—
the time you last saw
your breath fade
before darkness took hold?

Rules say, when that happens,
stand still.
Don't open the door but
look at the reflection
beyond the door.

Yet no one tells you
what to do
when there is no window to look

It feels as though the rules stopped working,
and even your mind
turns against you.

In the end, I did neither.
I turned my back
and walked away—
never staying to see
if I was wrong,
or right
but wondering what price
will I pay.