It is inevitable to not make mistakes in this life. Everyone holds something that they regret but consistently follows them at some point. There is no use in pretending to be perfect, because the skeletons that follow us are a constant reminder of how we do some kind of wrong, even if we do not mean it.
I have skeletons
weighing me down
I know everyone I pass in these streets
see them glaring inside my rusted clutch
because they have identical skeletons
shadowing them everyday, too
So how dare they look at mine
like they are some kind of strange
experiment
Haven’t you concocted your own, too?
Just look at them
they are blooming right beneath your underlashes
they find joy in making a spectacle of you
because they know you walk around with
guilt building in the most delicate spot in your
stomach
Those crisp bloodless skeletons magnify all corruption
buried within the depths of your soles —
interconnected, trapped in your soul
Like a prison
except no one has possesses the key
an eternal hell lies ahead
I know about those shadows
blasphemous ghouls lurking around after dusk
bringing out the wolves whom chant bad omens
over
foreign earth
moons
constellations
It is these skeletons that
hide in your luggage
garments
the infamous closet awaiting to blow
your facade in the back of your room.
