.
So it turns out they were all dead after all, in purgatory or somesuch, even though Abrams, et all promised me (well, not me personally, but all the hardcore, readallaboutit fans) that it wouldn’t end that way. It’s enough to make you wanna ask for the last couple of years of your life back, which of course you can’t, any more than you can ask for your heart back. Or your Alanis Jagged Little Pill CD, which somehow made its way into your ex’s glovebox. I miss that CD like I miss the Boogieman, and all the other terrifying reasons kids remember to stay the hell out of closets. Me, I gotta go in there with a broom and stir things up, let all those bones fall where they may.
Clavicle clatter,
the clamoring of hangers
when the thrill is gone.
.
prompted by poetic asides.
Whimsygizmo's Blog 
I love the voice here. As well as the last three lines. Abrams et all! Ha! I’ve read it three times now – the past can sure stir things up, that’s for sure!