by Nick Gisburne
The shadows at the corners of your bed
Are waiting, watching, wanting you to sleep.
Their bony bodies, eager to be fed,
Will drag you to the darkness, deadly, deep.
The monster men are coming, little man,
With dripping, drooling, terrifying teeth.
Your brother, who you don’t remember, ran.
They pulled him through the floor, and far beneath.
They’ve waited for your special birthday, five,
To find you, and to feel you, and to feed.
Do anything you can to stay alive,
But never, ever, let them see you bleed.
The cold, contorted creatures of a dream,
Tonight their touch will teach your soul to scream.
