Under Your Bed

When you ride your bike

’round that cul de sac,

does it follow your tracks by the second?

When you enter your room

is it waiting for you,

on the bed with its mouth wide open?

Do you know how it feeds?

Do you feel yourself bleed

as its teeth steal another bite?

What do you make of these wounds?

What are these scars to you?

Could the pain keep you up at night?

I know where it lives.

Once it’s filled to the brim,

it slips below the frame where you lie.

Your flesh soaks the sheets.

Tears fall as you sleep.

And it all begins again by sunrise.