Only at night do I see you.
Only in damp soil, writhing
beneath stones. Only
after the sun sinks into
the day. Only when
we are feeding within
bones, embedded in
the marrow. Only after the cry,
mama, when the monsters lift
their gruesome heads out
from under the bed, mama. Only
the monsters in the bed, and the
tug of their teeth at my breast.
Only at the precipice of
perversion––it’s basalt and
it crumbles to you.
You nightmare.
You madness.
You murder.
You death.
You, death.
