There Is A Monster Under My Bed
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There is a monster under my bed, and it’s not who you think it is.
It’s neither frightful nor fanciful,
Not hairy nor wily.
It’s a little ball of moss, with the strangest green eyes to match.
It wears a timeless smile, complete with half-chewed nails that scratch.
It lets me roll around in bed and doesn’t mind that I make it creak.
It whispers secret tales to me at night, and never ever asks me to speak.
It shows me its innermost treasures, all red and slimy and cold.
It tells me of worlds – once occupied, now abandoned – otherwise left untold.
No one else cares for me the way it truly does.
It never leaves me alone, not without a prick, a poke and at best, a nudge.
It tells me it loves me, and I’m the only one it wants.
“Someday, you will belong to me completely,” it sliters, coos and chants.
I can’t wait for that big day it’s talking about – of the final crossover.
Already, it’s loved me from head to toe, skin to bone, flesh to blood.
I want to give it everything I have, my body, soul and heart.
And to all who stand in our way, it says: from your life, you will part.
There is a monster under my bed, and it’s not who you think it is.
MMJ
