I see it in my head,
the monster that lives under my bed.
Daring not to move for fear
I might end up dead.
In this world there are two
types of people,
those that run and those that fight.
I learned who I was that night.
I pulled the blankets up to my chin tight
and begged the darkness,
if it just might,
leave me to fight another fight.
Poetry, scmoetry, needles, and knives,
darkness is the one that connives.
I don’t know how any one survives,
when it comes every night
where it thrives.
I see it lying there under my stair,
a shadow appeared out of thin air.