Seven Sins Sitting in Shadows

Deep in my closet, in the darkest corner,
the twinkling eyes of deadly vices do dwell,
peering up at me always.
The acidic drool dripping from fanged lips does drop
melodiously in the key of death.
The eyes taunt me.
The hissing splatter of the spittle sparks the floor,
momentary glimpses of nightmarish bodies fills my head.
The glowing eyes do not exist in light;
empty holes bore at me in skulls of blackest blue.
The small explosions last but a second,
the glow returns in the dark, but the image remains.
They are all the same,
seven sins sitting in shadows.

The longer they stay, the bigger they grow.
My weakness feeds their unending hunger.
They are my personal private predatory pets and I bid thee beware:
as I strive to starve the sinister creatures, so should you -
- too much indulgence will feed the beasts until the only meal sustainable
is the person at the closet door.