The mind is like a house

The mind is like a house,
Its filled with many, many doors.
No one live there, not even a mouse,
The only thing there is you, one behind each of the doors.
All these doors are locked, and you have the keys,
And each you behind the doors are different in personality.
Once opened, the you possesses you to do as they please,
Some are fine with doing as you say, some plan catastrophe.
You decide how you feel about the people you meet,
But some doors you never want to open, and the you knows that.
They call to you, when your sad, and weak, sitting in the drivers seat,
They can be convincing, when there are no more tricks in your hat.
There is one voice, a cold and evil voice, that voice's name, is murder,
It floats from the dungeon, from It's prison, where it should always stay.
Once murder is let out, it's harder to put it back in its prison, and keep it there,
Eventually, murder won't go back in it's cell, and it will finally have it's way.
Then it sets out on a mission of disaster, it aims to kill you, with fire,
It begins to destroy the house that is your mind, and end its tortured existence.
Then you die.