Fireball

I have heard the fear,

lived with it peeking at me from the inside of my closet,

wondering when and where will be the next moment it slips out.

Skeletons? In my closet? Oh, no.

Skeletons are for the organized,

the keep-my-shirt-on-hangers, the may-I-speak-to-the-managers.

The ones not scared to ask for a little more.

My fear lives in piles of unwashed clothing, a floor covered in dust, dirt, and hair -

It lives in claiming that “this is part of the art, man”, or at least convincing myself that it is.

I don’t wake up afraid of the sun like I used to,

I only take it in a little at a time.