Monsters are everywhere
If you look for them
Some are in the open
Some hiding in their den
And if that’s their thing
Some will sing...
1
The melody, most obvious voice
Tattoos all over his arms, grotesque
No weapon, no phone, you have little choice
In these events so thriller movie-esque
Pinned against the wall, give up your money and go free
Or die here, screaming, on your knees
2
Accompanies the melody
With his perfect hair, perfect face
He may mock you, you could mock him
But it ain’t your place, ain’t your place
Never again will you judge a book by its cover
Or have such a sadistic, ballistic lover
3
The part that’s so hidden
Within layers of harmony
The one that’s silent, compliant
Seems innocent, but can’t you see
There’s no such thing as an innocent bystander
They don’t confront the horrors with candour
4
Bass. Bass. Bass. Bass.
The ostinato right under the tune
Funny how you couldn’t see it at first
But she keeps waning like the moon
You thought she was funny, smiley and kind
Turns out she’s a parasite that sucks on your behind
Monsters are too real for tales, for words
And thus ends this quartet of the absurd.
YOU ARE READING
Corridor of Portraits
PoetryA corridor, its walls covered with portraits, stretches ahead of you. Some areas are lit up artistically, others frighteningly dark. Indecision grips you for a moment, but you must go on. You came here for answers, and you will get them. (A/N: Curr...
