My monster.

There is a monster living in me.
he is a silent scream.
Every time I go out,
I have to box my monster in
tell him to remember his manners in public
so people don't think I'm crazy.

He is always there with me
when I laugh and when I cry.
Sometimes when I am alone,
he tries to eat me alive.
Or poison me,
screaming all the time...
can't be good for your insides.

I'm not afraid of my monster,
I know he is just there to tell me something
to remind me that I'm hurting
hiding from the real monster.

All my monster does is explain that
I am just afraid that I won't be ok
that I will just be left this way
sick,
bitter
left behind whilst everyone lives their lives,
growing old without ever having lived.

Mostly I can laugh and feel ok
I live with my monster, my companion,
a friend in some twisted way.

But sometimes I feel like a whisp of smoke
puff and I blow away,
a faded grey.
But only sometimes.