Wardrobe-Skeletons Poem by Mark Heathcote

The perils of wardrobe skeletons
holding keys to abandoned souls.
And hearts covered with lesions
rattling in self-confining ASBOs.
Be a self-abusive, shadowy iceberg?
That prohibits all-natural warmth.
Whatever germinates into a stillbirth?
A trust that's eventually abhorred.
Healing can only come from within.
Absorbing it doesn't happen easily.
neither does the strength to forgive
Who wants to act reasonably?
It's skeletons that should suffer
an eternity to loiter—unloved,
locked in their airless, lifeless coffins
Conduit ice flows, bumping abruptly.