The Young Rambler.

The creatures that lie in the beds here,
Are the ones that once donned my bedroom walls.
I need not fear the monsters here,
For I did reside before them,
My deepest fear equipped masculinity,
It was caped in woes older than me.
When my years begin to gather,
I have written and I have witnessed the matter.

Make this true, within this natter,
I have got these things inside of me.
Rest child's eyes, and lie in the cool of stone.
The damp and the dry,
The aching, the fingers that pry,
My window was never a safeguard,
My humming nervous system did flail.


Damned away from the sun,
The same old monsters run.
As a child, I knew they would come,
During enjoyment, they waited with heaving chest and narrowed claw.

Rotted teeth and gaps in gum,
The glorious creatures shadowed.
The earth from my garden wrapped around each thumb,
Each claw, each tear in ancient, leather skin.

Is it the quiet of night that doth draw the worry,
Aware, was I, that my skeleton led within me.
Had mere younger years seen but enough?
They lurched in their places, even inhaling they bring a dull hiss.

And could my childhood ears have perked,
I pictured them at the window,
Even knowing they lived within the walls.
Still do they crawl at my hair, do they whisper at innocence.

'Oh what on earth is even holding you together?!'
And hear I, only, the response;
'Oh what is it that puts the colour in your skin?'.

-
- Notes to this piece;
Even as I speak the light dims and flickers, as if riding on my pulse. When will these demons leave me? The bell rang only once as I spoke 'The monsters were always faceless in the barn of my childhood home'.