Far Below Six Feet

*Skeleton Post*

The skeletons in my closet are different from most.

They aren’t bodies I’ve racked up,

Or relationships I’ve burned the bridges to.

They are the pieces of me I’ve suffocated.

They are the memories of myself I hated.

The ones I stuffed down so deep,

That the bones have begun to decay from the pressure.

.

They are the personality traits I tore from my ribcage

Because they weren’t good enough.

The ones that landed me late nights

Doing nothing but feeling sorry for myself.

That made me procrastinate everything I had to do

And lie about getting nothing done.

.

But even though I’ve taken them far below 6 feet,

They keep clawing their way to the top,

Cracked and covered in dirt.

Almost like a zombie,

Always fighting to remain undead.

.

We remain in this cycle.

They surface and do things I don’t approve of.

Then I dig bigger graves to entomb them in.

But somehow, they always come back.

And the pain their broken bodies causes

Never leaves.

-The Splintered Pencil