Futile Attempts at Poetry: The Closet

I am, in fact, a monster

By any definition.

I terrorize your heavy eyes

And dwell in fear and fiction.

The shadow is my sustenance.

And with such great esteem,

I accept your hospitality

As you invite me into your dream.

So drift on back to sleep my love.

Don’t worry.  I can’t let you die.

Although you find me monstrous

You created I.

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