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The Real Monsters Remain

Fret not, little child,
The monsters under your bed are long gone,
The next monsters you must fear
Lurk within the minds of men.

It enslaves their heart,
And lives off their soul,
Construing their figures beyond recognition.
Turning them into a shell of their former person.

Fret not, little child,
Such monsters are a part of life,
They live within us all and live all too well,
For why else would poets of old admire your innocence,
Your childlike wonder, lost to the seas of time?

– Maya Desdemona

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Day Thirty: Waltzing Masquerade

In this ballroom,
They are bride and groom.
But it truly seems,
That this arrangement attracts doom.

For they are but puppets,
Forced to dance on a never-ending stage,
So they play their parts to perfection,
Praying that someday,
Things will change.

For whom are you putting on this act?
To which great masquerade artist
Are you trying to prove yourself?

– Maya Desdemona

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Day Twenty Four: A Thought On The Human Mind

I suppose the reason I find the human mind the most rotten of all is only because it is the only one I know and understand. 
There could be something way more malicious, but a human being would never know, for one can only truly communicate with other humans. 
...
How terrifying.

– Maya Desdemona

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Day Twenty One: Foreshadowing?

I was out on a stroll,
Now usual, I suppose,
Yet today I found,
Another most curious view.

It was high up,
A rather peculiar looking cloud,
And it took looking twice,
For my mind to make a discernable shape.

In all its abstract beauty, 
I could see a bird
Flying out of a cloud of smoke
At least, that is what I perceived.

Twenty minutes later,
Is when my curious sight 
Comes to the corner of my eye.
I noticed that a bird was struck down.

It was not a natural death,
Far from it, really,
A few stray cats in the locality
Had caught it while hunting.

And upon looking at its dismembered corpse,
Hanging from a kitten's mouth,
I could only feel 
That I had seen that bird before.

– Maya Desdemona