There are no monsters under the bed,
Only mirrors that reflect the deepest parts of my soul
Hidden from the world and myself.

Imperfections hidden by perfect lies
Crafted to please a demanding world
That would break if it could see
That I am the monster.

There are no escapes from what I am,
A walking lie condemned to suffer hidden pain
Pain that comes from hiding myself.

The monsters consume my soul and mind
Living off of secrets
That would break someone to find
That I am the monster.

But as I look deeper into the mirror
I find also an angel,
Because you cannot see reflections
Without a light.

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