Oh, house on the hill,
Be the protective keeper,
Of the skeletons in my closet.
Hold them close
And keep them warm,
Within your tight grasp.
I see too many futures,
Ruined by my remnants,
Remains like bones,
Hung up — locked away.
My past up on a hanger,
Forever looming above,
It stumbles forward
Chasing down the present.
So I'll lock it away,
Hanged with a rope,
Carefully woven from denial.
The closet door encases,
Closed like opportunities unsnared.
Oh, house on the hill,
Be the silent prison guard,
Of the skeletons haunting,
My soul.