Monster Under My Bed

    When that whole Christ as son of god drama
    played as a young catholic I was spellbound.
    When I was older skipping church smoking in
    the woods I doubted but still harbored shame.
    I gave up the holy ghost long ago but the scars
    remain and guilt is the stain follows me like
    shadows even in moonless midnight and I wish I
    believed in prayer to quiet Christ under my bed.