"My Monster"
By: Litt

My mummy's breaking out of the cold
tombs where she's been laid;
forgotten (as the kings snoozing in the sand).
I can feel a thirst for blood on
those fangs of my vamp as she
eyes those who hurt.
Who I hurt.
(Or, knowing her, will.)
A strange rush, a flittering heart race,
has come from that trapped monster
inside; she's trying to get out.
She's trying; trying oh so hard.
I can hide it well, this irritation,
but she'll find out in the end;
for it feeds a thirst- a hunger-
for vengeance
that even they can't quell.
She'll find out and beat at the boundaries
of my façade. Spitting, howling insults.
Those things we know are true.
Or she'll wait in the depths of my shadow
until I break, which I dare not do;
She'll wait me out with a knowing smile.
Then she'll be free,
free to do those things
I dare only to dream about;
She's proven a true nightmare through these years.
All those vague discretion's we're suffered to endure.
And she knows my thoughts, those
unuttered retorts, hidden glares and even
my most seething rants.
Knows them all, those arguments, remembers the sting
of holding them down,
for she was a debater too.
A little too well, for it was
these air pockets in a mask I wear
She drew her first breaths.
These made her my monster,
My monster by (not) me.