A budding writer's collection

Truth Spectacles

What if I'm the monster?

What if it's my tentacles that lurk at the sides of my vision?

What if I'm strangling myself and others are my saviors?

Maybe I'm the problem with an elusive solution,

This naked eyes of mine were content in blaming others.

An abomination that is not you is easier to face,

But if it's you, do you run away or do you drown?

How to lock one's self away when the harm is inflicted inside?

What happened to the times when monsters were corporeal,

And my darkest fear was the clawed creature under my bed?

Which dagger pierces the ugly truth?

Which poison banishes it to the sea of silence?

Which prayers drown out its incessant insults?

Which bow knows where to aim its arrows in this darkness?

Would this knife let this poison out?

Would this bleeding purge my sins?

Or, are these unstoppable tears its pathway?

Will breaking my bones break its homes?

Or does it guffaw at my hopeless trials and errors?

These truth spectacles have their limits,

Where is this beast they prophesize about?