The walls are breathing.
The hills have eyes,
I understand now,
I\'m not the only one alive.
the carpet tickled my feet
The darkness snickered at me
Whilst I tiptoed carefully,
Hoping not to make a peep,
How much longer till the sun rose?
Surely my blankets cannot shield me forever,
The ghoul standing in the hall is patent,
He waits for the moment I lower my guard,
And I finally take a curious peek from under my blankets.
I the one to be killed by curiosity
And he, Schrodinger\'s, whose existence had not been proven to me,
When a child, adults are quick to say to you:
\"There are no such things as monsters, they are simply not true!\"
A soft lie that is,
As nurturing as it cares,
To keep our night peaceful,
And to allow us to rest,
Ghosts, Ghouls, and Goblins.
All real creatures of the night,
And they do not stop haunting you,
After you\'ve grown in height,
They simply adopt new names, new identities.
Rejection, abuse, poverty, just to name a few.
And just like us, these monsters have matured, too.
No longer do they hide in the shadows,
And whisper discreetly.
They waltz down the street in bold daylight,
And do not scare us as sweetly.
The walls are breathing,
The hills have eyes,
You understand now.
It was only a matter of time.