There are skeletons in my closet,
Placid,onerous and bronzed with dust.
I dare not gaze into their hollowed visages
Or deign to meet mummified stares.
I leave them as they have always been,
Handcuffed,bound and slouching;
Lest they twitch and tell all.
I erase all traces of their recollection,
So that they do not resurrect
And prattle with the living dead.
There are skeletons in my closet
Let such reminiscence be laid to rest.