we are monsters together,

huddled under the bed

of our childhood selves,

keeping each other warm

when there is nothing to eat

but nightmares.

 

we both fear the same things;

food, sex, loneliness.

that is why our monsters get along so well

(i see the same kind of monster in you

that you do in me.)

i am not scared of you

because i have known this monster all of my life,

i have known you all of my life.

 

us monsters thrive on fear

on cold, on frozen limbs

and frostbitten lips.

i eat the taste of cigarettes

off of your tongue

and my belly rumbles.

(it is not enough)

 

i fear for the day

that your monster grows too big

for it’s skin

and you burst apart at the seams,

dripping bullet-riddled viscera

on the bedroom floor.

 

i fear that i am the one

feeding you bullets

like vitamins.

 

you come to me with the

remnants of your last hunt.

48 hours this time

my instinct is to offer praise,

tell you a job well done.

but as your sleeping body

whimpers on the bed,

i know that i cannot be the one

to worship your bony ankles,

to sing praises to your thinning hair,

falling out in clumps into the sink.

i cannot give you what you want.

 

you came to me asking for help.

i could only respond:

“it’s okay, i’m a monster too”