Some doors are there for a reason, but which ones?

Odd is the moment when all doors are closed
Perhaps it is the lack of sight?
Peeling away the fake doors, unopposed,
Or are they real outside of your mind’s invite?
Readily I decide which of these doors
To treat as permanent fixtures against my progress
Until the struggle against it is fighting of many wars
Needless for some, but for the rest I obsess
I must agree that some doors must stay closed
Transient until the moments I can remain composed
Yet most of the time I digress

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