A brightly lit room still holds darkness.
Look deeply,
Leopard like sharpness.

In a corner or behind the door.
Look closely,
Maybe under the floor.

Look high, look low.
Bring a friend,
Let the search grow.

Look to the wardrobe,
Maybe you see it.
Pressure building in your lobe.

Look under the bed,
Creepy crawlies,
Infecting your head.

Look in the closet,
Careful there I say,
Untold, unknown,
A ghoulish made deposit.

he picked apart the movements
of girls' hips
like he forgot what his momma looked like
like he never knew how to believe a female tongue
he never thinks too hard
about the sentences she can make
only what she'd look like if he
forced himself inside of her

he ate his words like
a picky child who only ate cigarettes
and ******
he bathed in the brute fury
of how they never payed much attention to him
until they were screaming stop
and he was going anyways
he hated them for being beautiful
he hated beautiful things in general

but he liked the feeling of cornering his prey
in a dark stairwell
he liked playing the devil
and walking to meet sin with a backwards heart
a heedless skull
a set of fingernails that always chipped
as he picked away at them with his teeth

he liked to think he could have anything his way
if he made it so
he liked to know that if he made himself
the faceless shadow in a dark corridor
he could become the boogyman
he could wrap around bodies like silicon
and swallow them like tremors cracking the earth

every girl he'd ever hated for her body
would have nightmares about him
and he liked them better as dead bodies
because it's the only time they'll shut up and **** him
he boasts tire tracks running along main bloodlines
a broken brain like a land mine
a chance of luck that he could **** some time
following the scent of something feminine
the idea that his presence alone
could shake her down to her knees

he wants to take every thing
that has never been given to him
he takes joy in the distorted
the sick satisfaction
of tasting the caviar that no one ever served him
the princess, trapped, in a black dress
pinned down in the dust
behind the restaurant dumpster after dusk
what an interesting view from above
he thought as he perforated the flesh
and though he never cared for the victim's clothing choice
he liked her best in red

he was not a mommy's boy
and it showed
he took care to take in a way
that he knew left limbs hollow
in it's wake
slit wounds in a human
that were harsh
in places where white legs flashed beacons
a wraithlike shape that closes in
on women wreathed in dark streets
and poetry that hasn't been written yet

she had a sonnet to spout and a poison
of malignant parasites she couldn't shake out
that latched onto her veins
as she arranges them over her arms
and lower around her knees
and he never showed much promise
and he's angry that he has never been able to please
the world
so he waits for her
and he takes from her

and now he traipses out
with the blood
and leaves her to lie there kissing an ink spill
from her pen to the tar
have a billion conversations with the pavement
until the wounds dry up
she'll stumble into the arms of gravity
and leave her dead body behind
live with the infestation of his invasion
fused into her spine

making her squirm and shiver
years after she wormed herself out of your grip
she will always feel sick
of all the ways you almost got away with it
even when you've also died and gone
she knows
you've never been a mama's boy
and you'll never be a ladies' man
you'll only ever be the amens she made
after praying you would die
at point blank range

You could stray
in the dark.
And not feel a thing.
Wander on lonely sideways.
Slowly.
No demons' following you.
No boogyman.
No hooded guys.
They have melted away
till your veins went dry.

You could play
with fire.
And not feel the heat.
The burn.
The plumes of flame.
The sparkling ember
And still touch it.
"It was fun"

You wouldn't feel the rush.
that comes after.
The high.
Excitement fades
in your eyes.
Into pale pale
numbness.

Oh but without fear.
you could
walk on
rooftops.
on building-edges
on the highways.
And got run over.
Take bottles of pills.
With bloodied eyes and shaky fingers.
You could end the pain.
You wouldn't know it.
You could do it all.
But no one ever tells you.
And it seems that
no one
knows.

"How much is bravery?"
You ask.
"80 something years ahead, "
A life time
in exchange
It will **** ya'
Without fear,
no feelings.
no pain.
you could die.

We are children .
With unkempt hair
And hearts full of wonder.
We are the explorers.
The astronauts.
We swear to god that fairies do exist.
Because we’ve seen them.
Hiding in the mushrooms.
Growing in our backyards.
And if you asked us if the boogyman was real.
We wouldn’t hesitate to say yes.
Because he is
And one day he’ll get us.
And give us heavy hearts.
And whirlwind minds.
One day he’ll massacre the fairies.
And **** the explorer in us.
One day
We’ll have to grow up
But today
Just let me be an astronaut.

Why do we feel safe under the covers?
Such thin layers above us.
When monsters love the dark most
Thats where we hide.

Do we think that they can't reach us there?
That their cold bodys can't touch the warmth?
Do we feel safe because the old rule
Of you can't see me
Because I can't see you?

Blankets wrapped around you
Are the strongest fort their is
And in my room
My blankets protect me
From the shadows gaze
And the boogyman's hands.

subside the restless, crashing waves.

free my mind from this prison.

i am tired.
i am lost.
i've lost all meaning of the word, hope.

now, i just survive,
but only just...

egged on by the pluck and strike of the dancing tunes i force myself to listen to,
just to distract myself from all the raging stimuli.

emotion-sensory overload

perhaps, it's time i tried something new.
to stare into fear, and run it through...

maybe the little white pills aren't the boogyman,
the monster under my bed.

the monster is in my head,
and perhaps,
this little white pill...
just may put him away for a little while,
one day at a time.

subside the restless,
thoughts in my head.


~~~~~~~

this is my therapy.
so that i can breathe.

this one's not for you,
it's for me to read.
but if you really want to,
so can you.

the boogyman isn't under your bed, it's inside of you.