Everyone Has Skeletons

The skeletons in my closet tire of hiding, They scratch at the door and force it open. I cover them with a smile and say I'm fine, When really, all I want is time. I want the time to explain how they got there, And how I plan to release them when I leave. Yet all I can think is how could I breathe? How could I breathe when the air is too cold, And when everyone around me is getting too old. Getting too old to see my pain, And I'm getting too old to make it go away. I pray and I pray to find a solution to bury my thoughts down like treasure, But I know that no one would want to find those creatures. So the skeletons in my closet will remain, As shall I. I suppose I am here to stay.