This was written as part of my February “Poetic Writing” challenge in an attempt to try and get out of the habit of being worried about the raw state of things.
I often lay awake at night staring at the darkness of the open closet door. Sometimes I move to the edge of the mattress and try to steal a peek at the flood. There’s a monster that lives in my closet and is under my bed.
There’s a monster that lives in my closet and is under my bed. I’m not speaking in metaphor or hyperbole. There is an honest-to-goodness flesh and bone monster under my bed, and it scares me to death.
Sometimes I think I should just set it free and let it become part of the world, enjoy the sunshine, and learn to be comfortable when it so desperately hides. But then I wonder what daemon in the dark would replace it.
One day it might reach out from underneath and pull me down into the loop depths and swallow me whole where I’ll somehow need to find the strength to fight. But for now I’ll just lie awake thinking about the monster that lives in my closet and is under my bed.