My Closet

In my closet sits an open wound,
A jarred treasure tucked deep in the back,
Where a creature lies,
growing fat on my trepidation.

My desire to please you has kept it cross-eyed and hungry,
Tongue dripping with hate and skin toughened into a impenetrable armor. 

– I don’t blame you for it’s existence,
But I noticed your reflection in the gleam of its teeth the other day. 
I’d turned to ignorance in a fit of desperation and realized it’d already ran screaming alongside bliss. 

What am I left to do?
Fight or die,
Die or fight. 

In the end it doesn’t matter. 
For love was forgotten long ago,
Amongst the dusty shelves of our turmoil,
Our chaos,
You’ve won. 

BIATA, ‘I wish my closet had skeletons’

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