In shadows deep where silence bends,
There walk the monsters once called friends.
With teeth of doubt and claws of fear,
They whisper truths we hate to hear.
They rise not from the dark unknown,
But from the wounds we’ve called our own.
In mirrors cracked and minds undone,
The beast and man are often one.
A monster lies in every chest,
A hunger dressed in human flesh.
It smiles in rage, it drinks in pride,
It speaks the words we try to hide.
Yet men, too, carry sacred fire,
A heart that aches, a soul that tires.
We build, we break, we love, we grieve
We beg the monsters to believe.
But some will kneel and some will burn,
And few will ever quite return.
For every saint, a sin has bled.
For every word, one left unsaid.
So tread the line with cautious pen
Between the monsters and the men.
For who we are, and who we feign,
Are often tethered by the same chain.
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