We are all the villains,
of a poorly told story.

According to them:
The revolver sleeps,
with me under the pillow.

Nightmares,
dream of me.

I feed soup,
to the Boogeyman (and he doesn’t complain that it’s cold).

The ghost in my room,
leaves the light on (and asks to switch rooms).

I ended the war,
without firing a single bullet...
because the tanks surrendered via WhatsApp.

The devil,
offers me his soul.

The Grinch,
leaves me presents,
with the receipt for exchange.

The Bogeyman,
asks me for love advice.

I follow,
my own shadow.

Death,
asks me not to seek her.

And the end of the world,
says,
"See you later."