Keep It In the Closet

I’ve learnt to live with the skeletons in my closet, I’ve learned to live with their deafening bellows that echo in my ears in an attempt to catch my attention. But sometimes it’s hard to ignore them, to live past them because they are a part of me, a fragment of my shadow under the bright summer sun, a picture perfect imperfection of this beautiful soul that I possess. It’s hard to ignore their silent whispers as they call out to me, seducing me with the promise of a better hell than the reality that I face, drawing me to my bitter end, because they were once all I had when faced with great adversities. They comforted me with their clawed caresses, tearing into my bare heart, soul and mind in an attempt to soothe my emptiness, cradled me in their cold and rugged embrace, and yet I was comfortable with it because it was the only thing I’ve ever had that was close to love or at least should have been love. And now I find it hard to resist their pull towards me, their impatient cries to have me back in their possession and most certainly my bitter sweet end. I’ve realised that they’re my home, my fortress for there is no place that I seem to fit in, not a place where I belong, basically a lost soul, a stranger in Moscow. Should I surrender and heed to their call or should I keep holding on to the glimmer of hope that resides in my hollow heart that somehow planted itself there after a chance meeting, or was it fated? I guess I’ll never know because I feel myself drifting back into my dark abyss and this time I don’t see any chance, any hope of redemption, plus I never believed in luck and another glimpse of Paradise is seemingly the furthest thing from my radar.