The Monster Beneath My Skin
There’s a monster beneath my skin,
Silent, but with eyes so wide
It prowls within, in shadows thin,
A demon I can never hide.
It wears my smile, whispers my name,
It dines on every breath I take—
Its hunger grows, a quiet flame,
In each regret, each small mistake.
Its claws are guilt, its teeth are doubt,
They sink into my every thought
In the mirror, I cry out loud,
But find the solace I’ve sought not.
The moon drips blood; the night it moans,
I hear its voice beneath my veins
A chorus built of buried bones,
That sings of grief, of loss, of chains.
My flesh it wears like borrowed clothes,
A puppet tangled in despair
No one sees the beast that grows,
How it pulls, how it tears.
I fight, I bleed, I scream in vain,
Yet it whispers soft, so near:
You are me; I am your pain
And I will live as long as fear.
The monster is me, this much I know,
For every scar is mine alone
I wear the mask, I bear the blow,
And call this monster home.
