Closet of Odd

Somewhere you lost track

Of your old tribal god.

But he’s still in there, in your Closet of Odd.

In the Closet of Odd

With your scariest tales

And he grins at your tears every time that you fail.

In your failure and tears

And your watered down silk,

he waits to pass judgment on all of your ilk.

On your ilk he’ll pass judgment.

For your deep, dark, dumb flaws.

And he’ll whisper at you how you transgressed the laws.

You can silence the whispers.

Of that vicious old god.

But you’ll have to clean out that dread Closet of Odd.