A little sonnet by me talking about a childs fear of what may be under his bed and what that child might do to escape his fear. It's a very eerie and disturbing sonnet, if you can understand what is going on. I hope I didn't go too over the top with it, but here you are.
IT under my bed
Upon my bed I sleep
Hoping that the end will quickly come
Under my bed,
IT waits patiently for the quiet snoring
the snoring of the deathly last breath
IT rides across the madness of the mind
tearing at what is flesh yet is not flesh
tearing at what seems to some nothing
but to the owner is used for everything
tearing at the madness that lies within
IT waits patiently
ever so patiently
but I won't give it the satisfaction
the satisfaction of my fear
for I won't be here to show my fear
and quietly I take my pillow
and seek with it the long sleep
the sleep of which I cannot be disturbed by IT
IT cannot reach me in my sleep
my refuge from IT which has no name
IT rides the lonely wind of madness
and I am now safe
safe in the sleep from which IT cannot awake me
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