There is a monster under my bed
And he knows me quite well.
In the flame of anguish,
He laughs at my pain.
He is ruthless,
This much I know,
But I have never seen his face.
I will one day.
He knows my insanity
My intense grip on reality,
And when I shall fall to pieces,
His shadow shall mock me in the form of a familiar tune.
I call it love, comfort, warmth,
As it is only opportunity.
Aroma shall fill my nostrils
As tears overwhelm my face
Knowing my very meaning of life
Is a mockery to the monster under my bed.
YOU ARE READING
Of Heads of Tales
Poésie"Where is there a snow colder than my veins?" She would ask. And though I've known her For many years Her eyes still keep secrets She whispers that she doesn't see A world fit to be For just a King and a Queen A ruler in all of tyranny. Mercy, pleas...
