I miss the monster under my bed,
My confidant, my best friend.
I miss the loud tapping on the floor,
The banging doors in an empty home.

I miss the peaceful sleep,
In the haunted home,
Where curtains moved,
Without the help of the wind.

I miss the fear of senseless things,
The haunting beats that made me sing.
I miss the irrational fears and frights,
The ghosts in sheets that I seek to find.

For now my fears don't go away,
With just the cover of the sheets.
The beasts are real and hauntingly so,
They dare to even call you on the phone.

They live on mails and in machines,
Manifesting into unrealistic realities.
In timelines and deadlines and charts of sorts,
The monsters sometimes take human forms.

They sympathise and empathise,
And sometimes even shed a tear.
They tell you how to live your life,
And **** you with every word.

I miss the monster under my bed,
My confidant, my best friend.