The monsters, they roam the streets at night time, fangs bear, and claws sharp as razor blades. I have wondered many a-night in my time of brooding, whether they are monsters wearing human masks, or humans with monstrous faces. Either or, they exist. I say ‘exist’ because I cannot bring myself to assume that they are alive. I, myself, am not alive; I am, however, breathing. They take many forms, those monsters, they penetrate your life little by little, until one day, you realize that you have been infected by their grim poison. I have seen them, have seen them feasting upon the flesh of those foolish enough to let them in, foolish enough to open the door and invite them into their lives. Their claws ripping the skin on the living, and their fangs, long and yellow, crushing bones and bones and bones. I’ve heard them gargling on the blood of the innocent, heard them through screams and groans and piercing cries, and if you listen close enough, you’ll hear them as well.
“Feed us,” They howl “Feed us your souls, feed us your minds, and you shall become one of us.”
The monsters, they roam the streets at night time, fangs bear, and claws sharp as razor blades. They walk with fumes of madness hovering around their grotesque faces, if you can call them that. Twisted with envy, scabbed with pride, mammoth with gluttony, drooping with sloth, gloating with lust, rotten with greed, and mad with crimson wrath. Those monsters are all around you, watching, waiting, taking their time because they know your time is short, because sooner or later, we’ll all open our doors, and then, only then; we shall all become monsters of our own.