Found in an old diary that I'd thought I'd lost 10 years ago
Fucked up.
I'm that little kid laying in bed in the dark,
scared of monsters and wanting to call
for a grown-up to scare them away.
Except:
mom and dad are fighting now.
they don't yell - they whisper tightly and loudly,
harsh, sad sounds.
Their murmurs rattle doors and windows.
They're making the house fall down.
"It's decided then," they say.
The monster stares at me from the dark of the closet.
"How do we tell the kids," they ask.
Muffled, choking, gulping sounds.
Drool runs down the monster's scaley face.
How do we tell the kids?
I pull the covers over my face, partly.
One eye, one ear above and below.
(I can see in the dark, you know.)
I've learned to see pretty well this way.
Gnomes in the shadows, creeping eyes,
slimy, strangling fingers -
- I watch them move every night in the dark.
I see them.
I hear them.
They just say, "It's over."
How do we tell the kids?
I'm that little kid laying in bed in the dark,
scared of monsters and wanting to call
for a grown-up to scare them away.
Except:
mom and dad are fighting now.
they don't yell - they whisper tightly and loudly,
harsh, sad sounds.
Their murmurs rattle doors and windows.
They're making the house fall down.
"It's decided then," they say.
The monster stares at me from the dark of the closet.
"How do we tell the kids," they ask.
Muffled, choking, gulping sounds.
Drool runs down the monster's scaley face.
How do we tell the kids?
I pull the covers over my face, partly.
One eye, one ear above and below.
(I can see in the dark, you know.)
I've learned to see pretty well this way.
Gnomes in the shadows, creeping eyes,
slimy, strangling fingers -
- I watch them move every night in the dark.
I see them.
I hear them.
They just say, "It's over."
How do we tell the kids?