The Monster Beneath the Bed

In the soft, sweet light of a summer’s eve,

A little girl, with dreams to weave,

Lay upon her bed so small,

With a heart untouched, a spirit tall.


Her hair was spun of golden threads,

And joy still danced within her head,

For in her dreams, the world was kind,

A place of love, of peace, of mind.

She dreamed of fields where flowers bloomed,

Of rivers clear where fairies swooned,

Of castles high with towers of gold,

Where every wish was sweetly told.


The stars above were her lullaby,


As she drifted in the arms of the sky.

Her dreams were soft, her heart was light,

The world was tender, the dark was bright.

But time, as it always does, moved on,

And with it came the creeping dawn.

Her dreams, once sweet, began to fade,

Replaced by fear, in shadows laid.

For as the sun began to rise,

The world around her turned to lies.

Her heart grew heavy, her smile thinned,

And trust was lost to doubt within.
 
As the moon stood high and pale,

A shiver ran down her spine—a tale
That twisted her dreams, and pulled them away,

Turning them dark, turning them gray.

She awoke with a start, her breath a hitch,

Her room was quiet, but something rich
In darkness lingered, thick in the air,

A weight on her chest, a tug at her hair.

“Father!” she cried, her voice full of fright,
“Please, I need you, I can’t see the light!”

Her father rushed in, his face full of care,

But his eyes, so tired, could hardly spare

A moment of warmth, of love or grace—
He kissed her forehead, but there was no trace

Of comfort in his touch, no warmth in his eyes,

For he, too, was haunted by unseen cries.

“It's nothing, my dear, just a dream gone astray,”
He whispered, but his words fell away
 like ashes in wind, too soft, too light,

To banish the terror that gripped her tight.

But the little girl clung to her father’s side,

Her voice a tremor, her heart a tide,
“I…there’s a monster under my bed,
I can feel its claws, its hungry dread!”

Her father looked down, but the look was a stare,

A cold, distant gaze, a vacant despair.

He did not see the fear in her eyes,

The horror that danced behind her cries.

With a sigh, he left, as he always did,

And the little girl lay alone, so rid

Of trust, so full of doubt,

Her bed now a prison, her heart filled with shout.

Time went on, the nights grew long,

Her dreams became darker, and her heart less strong.
The monster she feared had slithered away,

From beneath her bed to the closet to stay.

Its presence was stronger, its hunger more fierce,

As it sank its teeth deep, as it began to pierce

The delicate shell of the girl she had been,

And she felt the monster tug at her skin.

Had become a shadow, void of love.

She sucked all the joy from the girl’s fragile soul,
Leaving a shell, an empty hole.

Each word she spoke, each glance she gave,

Was a weapon, a curse, a silent grave.

The little girl’s laughter, once pure and bright,

Was stolen away, consumed by the night.

Her monsters hands were cold, so cold,

And the girl grew bitter, tired, and old.

The warmth of her smile, the light in her eyes,

Were all snuffed out by the weight of the lies.

Her trust, once strong, was broken and gone,

Lost to the monster, who never moved on.

And the girl, once whole, now lay so torn,

Her spirit broken, her soul worn.

Nights became endless, the dark never ceased,

Her mind shattered, her heart found no peace.

For the monster was always near, always lurking,

A presence that fed on her fears, on her working

To be something more, to be something whole,

But the monster devoured her body, her soul.


And when she cried out, when she begged for release,

Her pleas were met only with silence, a peace

That was never truly peace, just an empty shell

Of a girl who had been, but was now a well

Of sorrow and pain, of memories lost,

Of a love long buried beneath the cost

Of a mother who had been her destroyer, her thief,

A monster disguised in a veil of grief.

One night, the girl cried out once more,

To her father, to anyone, to the door.

But the monster was silent, it did not stir,

For it had consumed all of her, her every part,

Until there was nothing but darkness and rot.

Her father came in, but his eyes were blind,

He could not see the ruin she’d left behind.

The monster had stolen her youth.

She lay in her bed, a shell of the past,

A girl who had once been free, so fast

And full of joy, full of light,

Now lost in the darkness, far from the night.

Her eyes were hollow, her smile a frown,

Her laughter silenced, her hope drowned.

For the monster, that beast, had taken it all,

Leaving only a girl who could no longer recall

What it was like to be pure, to be free,

For the monster had drained her completely.

And so she faded, a shadow in the night,

Her heart, once golden, now pale and light.

Her spirit, once whole, now splintered and weak,

A hollow echo, a soul too meek.

The monster had won, it always would,

For it had stolen her soul, just as it should.

And the girl, who had once dreamed with grace,

Was now a ghost, a shadow in place.

And still, beneath the bed, the monster waits,

A reflection of love, but love twisted by hate.

It takes and it takes, it never lets go,

Leaving only the remnants of a child’s woe.

The monster beneath the bed, the one in her chest,
Had taken it all, left her broken, oppressed.
The girl, who once smiled, now sleeps in despair,

A dreamless rest, trapped in the air.

For the monster is patient, it always remains,

A shadow, a terror, that forever sustains.

It was in the quiet of an evening hour,

When her mother, alone in the dark, felt the power

Of clarity, sudden and sharp—so strange,

As if the fog within her mind began to change.

She stood, trembling, at the edge of the door,

Her hands shaking as memories soared—

The laughter, the joy, the little girl’s eyes,

And she wept, realizing the price of the lies.

But the moment of clarity was too late to hold,

For the girl was gone, her spirit cold.

Her mother fell to her knees, her voice a wail,

A sob of regret, a cry that would pale

The loudest of storms, the fiercest of rain,

For in that moment, she felt the pain

Of a mother’s love, too long suppressed,

Now flowing freely, but unexpressed.

But the girl, now silent, could not hear

The apology her mother wished to endear.

For she had already slipped into the night,

Her soul lost to shadows, beyond the light.

The monster had fed, had taken its due,

Leaving her with nothing, and nothing to do.

The mother, now broken, was left with the truth:

That love had been lost, that time had been wasted,
That her daughter was gone, and she had tasted

The bitterness of regret too late—

For love, once broken, cannot be made great.

And in the dark, the monster sat still,

Her heart heavy with the weight of the kill.

The monster, now gone, had claimed what was due,

Leaving her with nothing, and nothing to do.