You glare at me through the darkness. Your smell of old socks blinds my senses as I pathetically cower under the sheets in my floral pajamas. Though it pains me, I eventually allow my eyes to peer into your gaping mouth, an aperture filled with all the clothing that was neglected to reach my dresser, as well as a mountain of other despaired clutter that mischievously hides the carpet. Few venture into your cavernous realm of mismatched socks and fuzzy sweaters, and fewer still make it out alive. Your malicious fumes of rotting fruit and forgotten gym socks still taunt at me in my most ominous nightmares. A horrible beast you are, waiting stealthily for your next victim. I assure you it will not be me.
November 13, 2011