Their corners hold secrets,
Darkness lingers in their depths,
Hiding them in vast thickets,
Making the most noticeable of them as quiet as slow breaths,  
What is beyond the mind's understanding.
She can't see these shadows,
Whose fluctuating contour is standing
In the obscurity that could belong in sideshows.
It's sepulchral aura haunts her,
Not knowing what  lurks beyond the mist,
That dwells in her mind, seemingly a blur.
Wishing that such thoughts would no longer persist,
Her deepest secrets,
Kept by the keeper of the clock,
Wanting to hold them locked within her caskets.
This is her own Pandora Box.