The Closet

If I could, I would.
But I won’t.
For I can stay in forever
And never be found out.

If I could, I would.
But I won’t.
For I can stay in forever
And never be found out.

And nothing will change.

I know.

It is,
Usually lonely and suffocating inside.
There is,
Company sometimes, of other carcasses:
choking in sequestration.
But it feels safer,
Than outside.

For I hear
voices from beyond.
Confused.
Trying to define me.
(Those who know of this box)
Denying Me.

I get petrified:
“Take your nose
Off my beeswax”
I cloak this cupboard
with rude defiance.

For I’m afraid of stepping out.
In an air free of dampness.
Full of chides. Maybe
I would be cast aside.
I doubt if I will
Survive.

But (maybe) I could.
And, I think I would

For then everything should change.

But let me cast that die later.
Let me think a million times before I decide.

For now,
I reside in this closet.

About the author

Flygye12

Representing your token small town, when not losing his temper, flygye12 is constantly losing stuff. In his 30s and still undecided on a career, he marks time as a professional procrastinator. His top fantasies are to become a somewhat famous mural painter and lose 6 kgs. Irritating is his most often used word. The only sins he accepts in himself are his fondness for parentheses and smileys. He refuses to accept the boyfriend's charge that he snores and loves to hate his mother-out-law. PS: He earns his free time freelancing as a sailor and a teacher.