They ask me what my childhood was like,

I tell them the truth.

Good.

Pure.

Nice.

Whole.

They ask me then,

Why demons hide in my heart at night.

What twisted my eyes to look so sad.

Who made me shrink,

Who made me fade?

I don't know what to tell them,

When the answer they seek,

Is staring at them in the face.

The monsters we kill,

Are nothing but ourselves.