skeletons in my closet
find that it is rather easy
to scuttle and shuffle,
to twist and hide
among piles and piles of doubt,
and the odd dress or shoe.

they rattle and rumble,
shift and crumble,
only piping down
when someone passes by.
they fold and clatter,
chitter and chatter,
but are deathly silent
when you don't turn a blind eye.

skeletons in my closet
know just when to shrink,
when to dress down their size,
to save themselves
from indecent exposure,
or me
from a pair of extra-enthusiastic eyes.

skeletons in my closet
live together in harmony,
and i know i shouldn't be scared,
but they're the ones who know it all,
and i couldn't clean my closet
if i dared.