The skeletons aren't in my closet;
They’re in my bed,
They're in every word I’ve ever said.
You know my past and what I’ve seen
Because being hidden is something I’ve never been.
They'll wash your blood right off the pavement,
The summer rains crashing through your window.
It's the harshest hit you've ever felt on the cement.
All the cracks in my mental rifts fill the room.
It's a flood that'll drown us soon.
I always forget just who I am
And what I want from this storm ahead.
My words are an anagram;
The story behind is a fresh color red.
What I meant is something not even I know
Because someday soon my mind will turn.
The words I wrote will have begun to show
Then I’ll see the white of the bones,
The ribcage I remembered seeing.
In our lake we've been casting stones
Talking up stories about the world we wish would be so freeing.
In my closet wasn't a world I’d been hiding.
In my closet was the pavement you'd been riding.