When I was little,
They told me, "monsters weren't real,
Only a figment of your imagination,
Planted deeply into your subconscious."
However, as I got older,
I learned that one monster refused to leave my mind.
I only saw him when I went to sleep,
While it was too dark to see his face,
And it was mostly hidden under his fedora hat and its shadow,
His silhouette was easy to make out he looked like a normal man,
The problem was that he never left mind,
Even as I got older,
I found it hard to pinpoint why.
The monster wore a glove on his right hand,
The glove bore sharp blades for fingers,
He made good use out of them,
By leaving painful slashes on my skin,
Every time I woke up,
Those same slash marks stayed there like a permeant tattoo.
One day, enough was enough.
I couldn't keep letting this monster attack me any longer,
I was going to destroy him for haunting my dreams.
He was nothing more than a monster.