The monsters in my house do not live under my bed
They do not hide in dark closets and cobwebbed corners
They are not for my fighting
I can never vanquish them
I see them behind mirrors and bottles
Laying low, and pretending to be invisible.
Acid-lined kisses give them away
And every night they come out to play.
My monsters are not for my fighting
They usually keep to themselves, and I to I.
And when I come across them
I bleed if I try to make friends.
If you ever meet them,
Don’t look them in their round beetle eyes.
They speak in slurred tongues and spit hellfire
Listen hard for tinkling sounds before turning corners
In my house
I am trapped.
The waters around my bed are rising
Look, they have again come out to play.
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