Dwelling filled with haze,
The moon passes
Time and time again.
Corner dark and suffocating,
Entices seekers of something transient,
To embrace a threshold
Not often conquered.
Arising from the depths of slumber,
The real monsters have come out to play.
Unraveling the threads to your existence,
They are only doing,
What God has told them to.
My monsters dress in robes of silk and lace.
But then again,
So do yours.
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