The Monsters

The monsters under my bed keep craving pure flesh,

The nails on their feet scratch harder when I try to start fresh.

But there isn’t a real bone in my broken body

So I never scream when they aim to cut or disarm me.

The monsters under my bed are stabbing my back,

Whenever I switch on the screen, they paint the room black.

And I know their feeding, they’re growing stronger each time

I let them pull me into the burning limelight.