Dorothy Eleanor

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Don't look under the bed

Every child reaches the age
When their thoughts need no consent.
When hearts twist and writhe,
Simple encounters evoke torment.

Days pass as moments,
Slipping through the tightest of grips;
Youth kisses sweet time goodbye
With soft, selfish lips.

With time comes knowledge,
With knowledge comes fear.
With truth we now know:
Monsters are real.

The creatures live among us,
Not unlike what you’ve read
But here in lies the difference,
They live in our souls, not under our beds.
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