Skeletons don't have funny bones

The monsters aren’t under the bed

(They’re in the walls)

Creeping from their quiet crypts

Milky white complexion and cavernous cheekbones

Is this real?

They take their leave each night

To walk amongst my dreams

Boney fingers tap, tap, tapping against the door

The sudden noise like a sinkhole in the stillness of the house

(Unexpected and terrifying)

Is this real?

Heart pounding, heavy breathing, legs trembling

The cool breeze chills the air

Contrasting with the acid anxiety burning my throat

(The wind whispers and the silence screams)

Is this real?

Their movements rattle and echo in the dark

The knob turns, the door creaks

I know what awaits on the other side

Empty ribcages and black hole eyes

(Is this real? Is this real? Is this real?)

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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