I believe that monsters are real...
I know they are,
Because I know more than one.
So hostile over such trivial little things,
Talking at me instead of to me,
So afraid to do someone else wrong,
Not seeing the pain that you inflict on me...
They get in your head,
They make you wonder...
If you're really the bad person,
And maybe the only reason
You see yourself as the good guy,
Is because you're seeing it from
Your own perspective...
They make you hate;
Wanting to lash out
At everyone and everything.
If you want me to become
If that is what you mold me into,
That is what I will become...
I am the monster.
People always talk about the butterfly's beauty...
Of how it transforms
Into so beauteous a form,
From a caterpillar;
A lowly worm.
Yet, no one ever tells you
Of the horrors it faced
While sealed within the cocoon...
Dwelling inside a silken womb,
As it fights it's nightmares,
Locked away in eternity's embrace...
It is an unfortunate constance;
No one speaks of the demons it battles,
Lurking just beyond that opaque veil,
Binding the linear to the ethereal...
Waiting to pick it's bones clean,
The moment it emerges
From the nightmare
It narrowly managed to escape...
Out of the frying pan and into the fire...
Is it better, am I right
Distilling every pain and plight
Into a verse, a spoken song -
I feel release, but is it wrong?
Is it wrong to grind the wheel
Of every bitterness I feel?
And on a sick assembly line
Press them to a powder fine?
But powder can be blown away
And soon belong to yesterday
And vapors, filtered and refined
No longer cloud this algid mind.
Though dust may glitter as it flies
And water gleam as it's capsized -
'Tis my release and nothing more,
It leaves me lighter than before.