Quiet little girl
The monsters aren't gone.
They're watching through the windows,
They're looking through the stars.
And all your little toys they dance
Like ribbons in the sky.
So dark, piercing like holes in your
Skinny little bones, oozing pores,
You're 3, 2, 1 you don't know how to breathe
These shards of glass they've been slowly
Piling up, and you can't pick them up,
Not with your gritty eyes or acid rinsed bones.
Because you're still scared of the monsters
That you keep seeing under your bed.
But little girl did you forget,
That there are mirrors under there.
k.y
2016
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 11:20 AM UTC
Quiet little girl
The monsters aren't gone.
They're watching through the windows,
They're looking through the stars.
And all your little toys they dance
Like ribbons in the sky.
So dark, piercing like holes in your
Skinny little bones, oozing pores,
You're 3, 2, 1 you don't know how to breathe
These shards of glass they've been slowly
Piling up, and you can't pick them up,
Not with your gritty eyes or acid rinsed bones.
Because you're still scared of the monsters
That you keep seeing under your bed.
But little girl did you forget,
That there are mirrors under there.
k.y
2016
We're all afraid of these metaphorical monsters underneath our beds, and in our heads; but what we fail to realize is that sometimes, those monsters are just us.
