Skeletons in the closet. Who has skeletons? I have demons and succubi. Skeletons are dead; my closet is filled with both nasty and beautiful wriggly slimy wet angry monsters with long sharp teeth... and I'm not afraid of them. What I am afraid of is them getting out and making my life painful. Skeletons are tame... they can't do anything but sit there and grin at you.
I started to write about one of them, but I realized that there's no reason to. I can just smile at him and pat him on the head and push him back into the closet with the rest of the gang. Introducing him to people doesn't do anything for me, so there's no point.
Sometimes I think I'm overly introspective. It's like I'm looking at my inner self, and my inner self yells "Quit staring at me!" Nosce te ipsum, I think back. He crosses his arms and glares disapprovingly at me, but gives in... stepping aside as if gesturing me to enter his house. It's blacks on blondes inside, and I get lost... and a little bored. I've been here already. I want to start up a conversation, but it always turns into a pointless argument. So I leave... but I always come back.