Closing the Door
Within my closet,
sits my skeloton,
here its whisper,
inside its scream.
And into this dream,
I walk with cement,
holding my ego,
in its mirrors I gaze,
sharp jagged reflections,
respire from the myst,
that fogs my eyes.
And still love cry's,
becoming nothing but,
that of a lit lamp,
empty of laughter.
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