Shirts
There are nights where the monsters in the closet are real
The open mouth of breathing becomes too embodied in the darkness
Those shirts that hung on a body only moments ago contain too much memory to be lifeless rags
To hang a shirt properly you should button it on the hanger - allow it to fill itself - hold shape
This also keeps them from escaping
The open window is too much a tempt - they would go - leaves from the tree - and they would find a wind to sail them because shirts know what you know
There are noises in there
The scent of skin and his skin and your unshowered self and the pancakes from breakfast
The stains of it are all over the place - teeth on paper leaving the indents of canines - they are flapping their tubular limbs and trying to un hook the hangers
They are attempting to smother
Try to picture a moment without monsters - closet or under bed - it is difficult perhaps impossible - did you make the right decision yesterday - was the adulting up to par - how about the grinning spectre of death
True to purpose - these things are a cover
They are warm when needed - soft as well
They find their sharpness in the pins left on accident - the button that always falls off
To you they look for forgiveness of what they did in your name
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