The skeletons in her closet
are clawing to get out.
The scratching sound scares sleep
and she is not prepared for them,
it’s not Halloween.
Inquiringness invites her
to crack the closet door.
The bones butcher beatitude,
the framework forays her future.
Subsequently the spine-chilling skeletons
withdraw to the wardrobe
until she consigns them to oblivion.  
Then they claw to get out.