a little girl asked me
if I believed in monsters.
I then grabbed the truth
by its collar,
I wrestled it to the ground,
tucked it deep
underneath my arm
and I said,
“Love, you know monsters aren’t real.”
And it’s times like this,
where I wish that my sentences
came with receipts so
I could take back my words.
I wasn’t being completely honest.
When I spoke to her
I almost choked on a secret
that has been stapled
to the inside of my throat
for longer than I can remember.
Not only do I believe in monsters,
but I’ve seen them whisper themselves into existence.
I heard they carve nightmares
into the eyelids of the innocent
and linger in dark corners
preying on the unsuspecting.
they’ve figured how to crawl through
8 millimeter film
and walk backwards into the dreams
of those who’ve never been afraid to sleep.
I believe in monsters the same way I believe in oxygen.
So how big is your closet?
How much space is underneath
the beds you shake in the middle of the night?
You are a vampire.
A werewolf in sheep’s clothing.
You swallow halos and spit out nooses.
How can I not believe in monsters,
when I see men like you,
walking with your knuckles scraping against the concrete?
You stand perched on the screams of assaulted women
and squeeze into costumes
that fool the public into thinking you’re human.
How dare you have the audacity to impersonate me?
How dare you pretend
as though there isn’t a woman out there
scrubbing the inside of her thights
until they turn stop sign red
trying to erase your fingerprints from her skin?
How dare you believe your blood is just as blue as mine?
When you speak
I can small Dante’s Inferno on your breath.
I’ve spent the last three months
trying to figure out how you escaped from hell
and wasted too many nights
thinking of painful ways I can send you back.
I carved galaxies in the back of my throat
just to make your world easier for me to swallow
but I can’t stand the taste of your behavior.
Every time you cross my path
I get the urge to tie you to a chair,
cover you in gasoline
and set your body on fire.
I am no Van Helsing
but I’ve seen enough horror movies
to know how to get rid of you.
But I know even if I killed you,
there are still millions of monsters out there.
Pretending to be men.
“The humans are monsters!” Erik shouted, slamming his hand down against the table. You flinched at the sharpness in his tone.
“Erik, not all of them are like that-”
“You don’t know that!” Erik snapped, his eyes flashing. “You’re small and weak and naive! You have no idea what they’re capable of!”
“They deserve to die!”
Your eyes stretched wide, “Erik, you don’t mean that.”
His lip curled back in a sneer, “Don’t tell me what I don’t mean. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen. The humans must be dealt with one way or another. If that means death, so be it. Charles is ignorant and weak to think we can make peace. Peace was never an option.”
You gripped the table, “Erik, you’re frightening me.”
“You shouldn’t be frightened of me, you should be frightened of them,” he snarled, “They are the ones who would slit your throat if given the chance.”
[ Because of the nature of this franchise and commission, there will be many triggering content. Please be aware of such thing when reading so, and if you’re sensitive to these materials then I would ask you to quietly leave the post or blacklist it. There are heavy contents of; blood, gore, violence, heavy abuse, foul language and more. Thank you. ]
She should be happy with the job handed to her as her determination burned against anything else. It was the job her fist slammed against the wood and her voice strained to grasp, as the fleeted image of her friend slipped between the monster’s grasp caused slams racked through her heart as poison leaked through her veins. Everything lead up to the moment her strength could protect the one that she held dearly inside. Throughout the training her body went through, the amount of swings as her weapon slashed through the air whilst her leg kicked at the dummy bag swung backwards, this had been the objective she always cried out for. And she got it.
It did not matter though. As her body sunk deeper into the abyss she never imagined, she no longer held the job she received. No longer had the job been for the family she dishonoured, but for the monster which bared his fangs at her friend. She became his watchdog, the protector and watcher, to keep a certain female from harms way from any other that decided to claw at her delicate skin. She became stuck in his web of traps as his voice played her like a puppet to its master.
Along with that, her emotions locked inside a box with a key gulped down his throat. A puppet with lose ends was no puppet at all, but trash that should not be played. The girl that use to be a hunter was no longer what her body deemed to be, but a soulless piece on his chest board. She held no happiness that could cause her to disobey his orders, as she became burdened of it as long as her actions became useful to his game and the loyalty her hands grasped onto still lingered in her heart. Her love for him may not be returned, but as long as she could be apart of his plan, and be next to him, her heart fluttered anyways.
The kaleidoscopic didn’t need million of colours, it only needed the black and white of his image and praises controlled over her mind. Happiness became nothing if she couldn’t be of help for him.
tears ran down her cheeks
her hands were shaking
so was her voice
“those are the monsters
that haunt me
they are under my bed
all of the unsaid things
i could have told people
but i didn’t -
those are the monsters that don’t go away”
so at night when my feet dangle
off of my mattress
i hear her voice
the monsters make their way to me
they climb from my legs until
they meet my eyes
they grab my throat
“she’s gone now”
she was right
these monsters bite
i should have told you i loved you // october 25
Oh, silly sammit-janet. It is never to late to talk about this:
Sam’s arms are downright dangerous. You’ve seen how tense and taut those muscles are when he raises a gun, when he slams a monster around, when he digs a grave.
You’ve watched him stretch his arms over his head when he’s tired, flex his forearms when he’s mad and trying not to show it, lift things that no human should be able to lift.
And every time you look at his arms, all you can think is how big and powerful they are. Big enough to practically swallow you when he pulls you close, and you never really noticed how long they were until they began stretching across your shoulders constantly, trapping you ( a totally willing prisoner) in their cage. Powerful enough that one of them underneath your ass is enough to hold you up while he fucks you senseless- he doesn’t even need to brace you against a wall.
And the way they feel when you are grabbing and clawing at them, holy shit. It’s nothing but silk stretched over steel, slick with sweat, tan practically glowing…
But your favorite thing about Sam’s arms are how they feel when they are wrapped around you when he’s sleeping. His muscles are relaxed and loose across you, but you still feel them twitch and tense every now and then, as if they are trying to protect you, even when he’s practically unconscious.
Sam’s arms are exactly where you want to be, all the time.