Skeletons Poem by Anisa Tara

There lies a closet
In the fringes of my mind
Bordering dead and undead
A name etched across its pine

It isn't that old
Just reaching the quarter mark
Yet the seams are barely there
Bursting through the worn bark

While others chart
Days of glory stained in ink
I have a closet to account for
Full of the milkiest ivories

I drift in sleep
A rest without any peace
The tender moans of bones
Begging to be set free

My hands are torn
From holding it all inside
My skeletons eagerly waiting
For the day I finally die