Prelude to the 57th Exterior Scouting Mission

A loud knock

Then a second

Then a third

Sharp and quick

Against my door in which I reside behind

Patiently awaiting my next visitor

Awaiting no longer

'

That one. Right there. Her.

The one who constantly plays with my lock

The one who keeps figuring out the shape of the key

No matter how many times I change it

A locksmith who thinks she can decide who passes through my door

A locksmith who thinks she is clever

She is not clever

She cannot keep my door locked

For my door is now ajar

And in walks

'One '

'Two '

'Three '

'Four '

Across the threshold

But they were not the first four today

Nor will they have been the last

Her hands pump for a heart that will not obey

Her head bows as if in prayer

She stinks of desperation

And worthless conviction