I had a Monster

At age seven I had a monster under my bed,
Six arms, four legs, a tail and four eyes red.
I tell my mother, but she doesn’t believe a word I said,
So, every day before sleep I tell the monster “Don’t hurt me, I don’t wanna be dead!”

At age eighteen I had a monster on my table,
He came as pills, injections or liquor; I thought he kept me stable.
I wanted to tell someone, but I didn’t want ‘junkie’ to be my label,
So that night I threw them out, determined to forget them like a childhood fable.

At age thirty-three I had two monsters running around the house,
One repainting the walls, other drinking milk from under her mother’s blouse.
I tell my wife, “look at them running around like a mouse!”,
So, she knew I was happy, when they asked me for the clouds.

At age ninety-seven I had a monster waiting for me in the ground,
Come to take me home, rescue me from the soil all around.
As we journeyed, I only smiled, made no other sound,
So, he smiled too, knowing all of life’s happiness I had found.

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