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"Skeleton In Her Closet" - @PaulTheEsquire


The skeleton of her past, that is I, sat at the desk, in the dark.
I didn't mind.
My eyes had rotted away with time.
And my memory had faded.....
In a graveyard of memories, I found myself digging.
Searching for something.
Something to write with.
I remembered this room, this desk I once sat at in her mind.
The feeling of the smooth paper on my fingertips.
As my hand of bones stumbled across the desk, I knock over a jar labeled "Her Love".
The black ink spilled in a puddle.
As I pondered on whether or not I should try to clean it up, I decided to make better use of it.
As I took one finger tip and dipped it into the ink, I write....

"I've been whispering to ghost...."

I mull over conversations I've held with ghost from her past and the other skeletons in her closet.
Verbose violence as whispers pierced through silence in a manner so loud that it made my bones shake and shudder.
They hang in her closet chattering demented sentences, loathing my freedom of her sins, prayers of her downfall and repentances.
Some for her sins and others for their own that they committed while and permitted as she turned them to bone.
And here I am.....
Even in death, still feeling blessed.
Despite spite through the night and her taking my flesh.

".....but they pretend they can't hear me when I whisper your name."

They pretend that they can't hear me singing, they can't hear what I have to say.
That is my plight.
They don't want to see me live again.
They're comfortable in the dark during the day.
They embrace the dark of your night.
I hang in your closet with them hoping one day they'll be a friend to me.
Even though I'm afraid of seeing other skeletons, no matter who they could be.
They try to sway my opinion, they tell me I'm always wrong.
I hope they're trapped in the odyssey of your closet where they all seem to belong.
I don't want to crawl back to that closet, place myself back on a hanger and blend in with the plethora of bone.
I don't want to be part of the tribe yet still feel all alone.
As the ink on my finger tip dries, I wonder if you'll read what I wrote and come to find....
.....that you remember me the most out of all of the other skeletons in your mind.

Just a Thought.. - @dbmhAP

Memoir... - (@dbmhAP)