drugging the corpses in my closet
leads me down a pathway i had forgotten,
connecting the summer kitchen
out by the elmwood tree
with the cellar stairs in the rose garden.
i twist my way down the stairs
to search through the damp of the cellar
for the family's best wines.
i intend to drink these terrors to death,
toasting them with a fine chardonnay
as they cringe at the thought
i will be free from them.
they still hold spells over me,
but i take them in stride,
as i pull two bottles off the shelf
and head back up the stairs.

in the sweaty sheets of my childhood
i entertain my horde of houseguests
who crudely mime their affections to me,
sitting seductively on the edge of this bed.
it seems already,
that the clothes of a lifetime's nightmares
are hanging from the canopy,
and my fears slip their hands down my chest
undoing buttons with a ripple of fabric.

my anxieties go down on me
brushing tongues upon the maleness
hiding between my legs.
forever shamed by its presence
both limp and erect,
i cower in fear
not only of these monsters from my closet
but also the nightmares i've become.

copyright © 1994 Matte Elsbernd
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