I hide behind the twisted metal wreckage of the daily news. In my darksome cave, I am safe from the monsters of reality.

No one bothers to ask the monster under the bed what he is afraid of. But I’ll tell you, anyway.

It’s you.

The things you do to the children of your world. Yet they have nightmares of me. I’d shake my head and harden my heart, but I’m a monster. I don’t have either. I have to feel it instead.

4 thoughts on “twisted

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