The monsters don't dwell under your bed,
but they thrive and grow inside your head.
The only physical form they take
is in the cuts on your wrist you make.
The monsters don't dwell under your bed,
but manifest in your mind instead.
They grow in thought and word and deed,
they live off envy, hate and greed.
The monsters don't dwell under your bed,
but it is your brain that they fill with dread.
You don't notice them until it's night,
and when the time comes, you're too weak to fight...
The monsters don't dwell under your bed,
but it's your sanity they tear to shreds.
YOU ARE READING
Screaming off the Cliff
PoetryPoetry assembled from the very depths of a deranged mind. Trigger warning. Tragedy ensues.
