Sometimes I wonder whether
The monsters underneath our beds
Have simply learned
To leave us alone

Fully knowing that the fear comes
Regardless.

Knowing that many times we scare
Ourselves into thinking
Once we dream
We will never wake.

That every night we hear
Sirens
And ambulances wailing-

Mistaking them for gunshot wounds
Buried deep within
Our chests waiting
To resurface.

And we dream of our stretchers.
Of if our arms
Will seamlessly tuck
Into
Our chests as we curl up
Beneath the smoke and
Rubble
Of to-
Morrow.

As if our sleep leaves open wounds
Left for them to
Sew.