In the deepest darkest corners,
Of my mostly bright blue mind,
There's something fascinating,
And horrendous you can find.
My own brown, creaking closet,
With my secrets dark and foul,
Full of secret keepers,
With hooded eyes and cowl.
My closet's where my 'id' lies,
Like Freud would claim of me,
Thankfully it's locked shut,
And I don't have a key.
If it where ever opened,
T'would be dangerous and bad,
Just its gruesome presence,
In my mind can make me mad.
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