I’m sorry if I seem detached
or hard to reach as of late.
Come on in, meet my monster,
it tells me what to do and say.
I clench my jaw, shackle my hands,
to try to keep its voice at bay.
Can’t quite split its thoughts from mine,
without sawing my DNA.
Please wash your hands
next time, I implore.
Don’t, with those dirty hands,
touch the handle on my door.
Anyway, the creature crawls into my brain,
crazy as it may seem,
and whispers that it’ll hurt me
if I don’t clean and clean and clean.
It tells me not to play outside
or else I’ll fall on the asphalt.
It tells me not to sing a song
or missing notes would be my fault.
It tells me not to wander nights
or I’ll fall victim to assault.
Its rules protect me day and night,
so now it acts as my default.
Devouring adventures caught
plays dead when smallest trouble’s wrought.
I miss holding hands and hugs
but I stay clean as Monster’s taught.
Human attraction to recklessness
carries danger, as it ought,
but I cannot relate to those
who have never with their monsters fought.
I live fearing mortality,
uncertainty, reality,
guarding my vitality
leaves less than perfect casualty.
It has become absurdity.
Logic is illogical
to Monster’s illogical logic.
How can I be surprised by life
if, over my shoulder, I watch it?
