A mighty midnight monster
comes creeping and crawling.
It wants your blood, wants to devour you.
It lurks ‘neath the bed, biding its time,
plotting, scheming... It must have your flesh.

Its pointy teeth are sharper than cheese,
its claws are enough to make you beg “please!”
A growling laugh, a moaning bellow,
it’s really not a very nice fellow.

Under the bed is from whence it creeps,
whilst its victim innocently sleeps.
Eyes of blackest black,
empty, yet beautiful and captivating.

An arm here, a little leg there,
slowly he nibbles,
feeding upon your fear.

Unaware, most sleep right through it,
then end up dead, lying there in bed.
With not a stich of clothing on,
and a time of death near the dawn,
but some witness it, some survive.

Those who do are rendered insane,
a side effect,
of the architect
of pain.

What do we do to stop this horror?
Tremble in fear?
Light will drive it away,
sharp objects to make it pay.

If you should see a Mighty Midnight Monster,
do not scream, do not panic,
it loves your fear.
It feeds on pain, so give it some,
suicide is the only answer,
make it die, make it suffer.

I once had an encounter with such a beast,
upon me it wanted to feast,
I discovered the feat of defeat,
quite by accident.

I told it to go,
I begged it to leave.
Nothing worked,
until I did pound it.
I told it I was ignoring it,
but it stepped up its assault.

It said nothing, just growled.
I changed my tack,
befriended it.
The sorrow it felt slowly ended it.

Make them pay,
be their friend,
they cannibalise themselves,
and that, my friend, is the end.