Monsters killed a child today.
You glimpsed them slicked with blood.
You shrieked your standard curse in pain…
You spat your words in mud.
There may have been a note that mourns,
A sound to hold the pain…
There may have been a word that scorns,
Could count a wound as gain…
There may have been a mother who
Wept her chorus of tears…
There may have been a father who
Could say a theme on fears…
Their cries are silenced with vices.
You beg your turn in grief.
You know how monsters feed crises.
A mask that veils a thief…
Perhaps that mask is on my face?
Where else that sense without?
You turned to me without a tear
(You turned with shaded doubt).
No plea can cut a monster’s fang
No curse could shut its eye.
You had to ask of something true
You had to ask me why.
You had to ask to render wrong
A prayer I’d spent today.
You had to ask before too long
What monsters had to say.
What monsters say I used to know
But dreams since killed that hurt.
I learned an art to lay them low
For dreams stain much like dirt.
You know there is no hurt I hold
That children could reveal.
I stroke a beast that haunts the cold
A dream that learned to feel…
But…
But…
But I know what monsters look like.
They’re not quite what you think…
They have no roots in earth or blood
They rise full-formed from ink.
And I know what demons dream of.
They twist the strength you seek.
You cry your sorrow in slumber,
They hear when you’re most weak.
And I know what sinners speak through…
A sight as much as sound.
When the dancing revives the song
Ensures the words are bound…
The threads will wind around the sense
You’ll fail to catch the spell.
I know what monsters sound like.
I’m trilling what they tell.
High Pressure Days 