Withdrawn beneath the shallow
pools of shadows, does my guilt
            linger. Hidden from sight.

Not all skeletons are buried in
closets, some are in shallow graves
                             beneath the covers.

For those things we wish to hide from
others, are never sunken deep for others
                           dig deeper than we think.

Under my bed are dusty reminisce of
things best not known,
                              by others peering eyes.

For some secrets we sleep upon,
never looking for the monsters of our
        own making, slumbering underneath.