Lost and stumbling in the dead of night,
Occasional glimpses of light appear
Piercing through depressing darkness
Giving me hope that a new page in life
Might finally be written.

It would be a cold-turkey plot twist
In which the protagonist resolves:
To dissolve the coarse shackles
His skeletons use to grapple
And pull him to their closet jail.

Each day they dance and play
around him in a devilish circle
As he burns in the bonfire blaze
Of his self destructive cycle—
BUT NO MORE!

Maybe that page could even be a book!
A fantastical look at a clean closet man,
With nothing to hide from friends or family,
Who spends each day weightless and happy.
Indeed, a pleasant and frivolous read
Perhaps lacking in plot (and critical thought),
But full of beautiful prose and imagery.
Yes! I should think I’d enjoy such a life.
A book with no strife would be good.

Now if only the light might linger
And brighten my page long enough
To see beauty through my rough night,
I could write it.

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