The Closet

The words won't come,
They stay lodged in throat.
Spew them up, telltale scream,
Silent, stare, it's all the same.

So turn to gaze, unfathomable depths.
You can't reach in, you can't pull out.
But they yawn open; laughing, mocking,
The dank that the closet holds.

They pierce you with,
Their eyes, their looks, and glares.
Sit back and imagine,
Words and kicks just as sharp.

Lay on bed, pain lodged place.
It calls and calls, name whispered sound.
The wardrobe? The dresser? Stuffed teddy bear?
None forbode; closet born nightmare.

The faces, the letters, the hate,
Each sparks an image; closed minds eye.
Acceptance, chance, love: same?
Blame, lies, corpse and the lame.

You can't go on, locked up, seal in place.
How can it be? Self inflicted fate.
Yet the fear consumes all who bare,
The mark of the closets care.

Tried to hide, jealous disguise,
It all comes out, fallen and proved.
Placation. Marked down on your grave.
A? B? C? Or a simple slave?

Can you do it?
Swing wide closed doors?
Or will fate be tested?
As the closet reigns over yours.