Dismal Childhood

March 8, 2008
The sound is faint
Fairytale creatures climb out
Of the chest that resides
In my closet.
And from the glimpses I catch
Of them, I know
That they are not
Made of only one
They have
Pieces of
Twig, leaves, wool,
Fur, bone
On each of their
Small elfin bodies.
Each from childhood fairytales.
The music is louder now, the sound of a dismal childhood
It seems as if it’s played by
Toy instruments.
Minute kazoos and horns
And the sound turns my bones to ice.

The creatures are closer now
I know even if I can’t see them.
The scratching noise they make
And the chilling music
Spirals around my bed.
I don’t know if they disappear
Or if they just melt into
The black velvet shadows
That are swirling
In the room.
I feel as if there’s a colossal bird
In my chest.
It’s panicking, trying futilely to
Break free.
It beats its massive wings
Creating the thumping in
My chest.

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