Rustic Wooden Doors That Lead Nowhere

With the light from a melting candle,
she explored the depths of her soul...
exposing pink fluorescent dreams
and cobweb cornered nightmares.
Her tired eyes peered
through every rusty keyhole
and her dry, winter fingers
brushed every door handle.
Not ever daring to enter,
but instead wandering the corrosion.
Too afraid to enter a single room,
she percolates the darkness of the halls.
Her dimming light
painting a waxy trail of hesitation
behind her.
Collecting the dust,
as time goes by....
the flame finally
reaches her arid, seasoned hands,
still she strays the halls....
but by now....
the ambiance has melted into her heart.