The Worst Hauntings Happen Behind Your Eyes

As a child you were tiny, and timid, and the night was full of terrors.

You saw in every window a mythical monster, heard the voice

of a demon in every windstorm, the creeping step of the bogeyman

In every creaking floorboard.

Then you'd run to Mother's arms

And all would be well.

Those were the days when the monsters were apart from you. Not real.

Now you cry in your sleep with no one to hold you

Phantom pains in your limbs, phantom bodies

Visions of bloodshed and terror in your head

In your heart;

Ghostly hands burning you where they touch,

Greedy, demanding; violent words eating into you like rot,

Echoes of explosions and mocking words on and on

and on.

These are the days you realise

There is no mythical monster that can be killled—

Just you, and the indelible past on repeat in your head

Over

And over,

And over again:

A part of you, too stark, too real.

These are the days

When you have nowhere to run.

{Claire}