Inside My Closet

INSIDE MY CLOSET Don't be pokin' your nose into my closet unless you can stand the stench Searching for my old dollies with hidden innuendoes sitting on the bench On bottom left hand shelf lies a black box it’s full of anger, it’s full of hate Past forgotten arguments, that once opened, are still fighting, for debate On the top right hand shelf is a box of sorrows, still all hoping to be forgot Waiting on the paper mites to devour them, turn them into dust, then rot In the left hand corner; on hooks hanging is a shadow of my old true self Of a happier person whose wisdom was worth much more than its wealth Boots, shoes, and sandals lie haphazardly, dust-like all knowing the score Of every battle I have ever won or lost, but; never winning the bloody war Rails of faded jumpers, trousers, blouses, and, those long, swirling skirts Now to scared to move them around in case my secrets out they do blurt The key to my closet remains tightly around my neck, upon, its own chain To stop your child like nosiness, within my privy closet, is your flamin’ aim The pink and yellow box; of old photographs; memories, for my eyes only Filled with forgotten faces; and, stops my heart, from being ever so lonely Upon the top shelf; a trinket box; once wound, can still play, its own tune A melody of tears, by Beethoven and best played under, a clear full moon Yes; this is my closet; my own treasure trove, my secrets, only to myself My whole life; before me, just hanging off the rails, or, sitting on the shelf Indiana Shaw . . . -_-