Some doors, once opened, can never be closed but we can choose to avoid those rooms that are bad for us.

 

Unless you're the house in the metaphor. Soon that room bleeds out into the hallway infecting your floors, which threaten to give way with each footfall, and your walls which, with their pained joints of abuse sway assailed by windlash and the chronic gnaw of rats…then creeping up the spiral stairs to your attic and down to your basement below, invading like slow pestilence—like hungry ghosts shooting tendrils from the mouth, wearing their theft-of-night like tourniquets—until no room of you is left spared and outside every window a heart hangs impaled upon the moon.