the monsters

I’ve got to let the monsters out

or they’ll eat my insides:

If I let them stomp around on paper

they’ll stop their stomping in my skull

I’ve got to let the aching be real

or I’ll lose my mind:

If I hit the walls so my knuckles go blue

then it will only hurt for a while

I’ve got to let the noise out

or I’ll stop hearing things at all:

If I scream till my lungs are empty paper bags

it might be still for once in my chest

I’ve got to sort some things out

or the silent weight will crush my spirit:

If I make the invisible things into pictures

I might start to see what’s the matter with me.