There is something in my closet, I don’t want to see it so I close it. Dark and eerie like the world in my head, Just out of reach at the bottom of my bed. That something is hidden from all except me, A darkness not allowed to be shown and be free. There is something deep in my closet, All writer out there know it. Sometimes call the voice in your head, Or the muse that visits you in bed. That something talks to no one but me, It cannot be shown or allowed to roam free. There is something hidden in my closet, I’ve never taken the time to talk to it. It whispers sweet poetry into my head, And leaves me wanting to write when I go to bed, I know of it and it won’t let me be, I know that one day it will be coming after me.
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Big, powerful secrets, that glittered away, unsaid, on dark nights.
Like stars.
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