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,
– BIATA, ‘I wish my closet had skeletons’