There is no monster hiding in my closet, Instead it lurks right on the edge of my sight, Where it can stay the closest.
It sits, heavy, on my chest at night, Long claws sinking inside my head.
Since I was a child, it has steadily grown, Taking up more and more space, Leaving me with none of my own -
Caged by my own bones - Itching to crawl out of my own skin - Tiptoeing around my own thoughts -
No. The monster never was hiding in my closet.
But what a fool I was,
But what a fool I was, To dismiss the idea of it ever being there.