There’s a monster living under my skin,
It hums lullabies in a voice like sin.
It doesn’t scream. It doesn’t roar.
It just waits... behind the door.
It’s soft-spoken, wears my smile,
Walks in my steps, stays awhile.
It knows the cracks behind my eyes,
Where all the dead dreams lie.
It isn’t sharp—it’s patient and slow,
It dances in places no one should go.
It sips on memories like bitter wine,
And chews on thoughts that once were mine.
It curls around my mother’s name,
And whispers that I’m just the same.
It counts the days I’ve held my breath,
Then offers comfort dressed like death.
People say, “You’re healing now,”
But they don’t see the sacred vow—
Me and it, we made a truce,
It feeds on pain—I stay the noose.
I try to scream, but it just grins,
Wearing my face like borrowed skin.
And every time I think I’m free,
It locks the door and swallows me.
You wouldn’t know it to look in my eyes—
But something in me never dies.
I laugh. I love. I play pretend...
But the monster’s always watching…
waiting…
for the end.