The Closet

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.

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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.
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