A father's laugh,
a mother's touch,
a smiling child,
who had so much

Loving family,
to all who see,
except, of course,
for plain, old me

A quiet type,
not much to hear,
but soon, they'd see
the beast appear

Always a lover,
never so vile,
but inside of me,
a demon, docile

Quiet and elusive,
yet deadly and cruel
the beast in me,
needs so little fuel

A tone turned harsh,
or a look made mocking,
it was no longer me,
but the beast talking

For a minute, an hour,
or maybe a day,
it was no longer mine,
but the demon's stay

I wish for reprieve,
for sunlight to see,
but there is no escape,
when the monster is me