even the wildest of us, craving freedom, has broken 

alone, the sleepless nights pass so tediously

you fill them with the monsters in your head rather than 

the monsters under your bed

you do the things you swore you never would

when you were young and there was only black and white

real and unreal

but now your world is grays and strange shapes

and queer thoughts that frighten you, because they are you

and that's when you realize 

growing old is not always beautiful

because 

childhood means running for help when you are frightened

asking for a bedtime story to keep the beasts in your closet at bay

and adulthood means

shivering under clammy bedclothes 

because you can't ask for a story to drive out

the ravings in your mind