Boogieman

What if the boogieman doesn’t want to kill?

Using bones like an instrument;

The xylophone of a skeleton,

A rib cage, in the shadow of fangs;

But these teeth want mother's chicken soup

And these hands want a fireplace

And these haunting notes sound like a wailing chalkboard,

He plays with eyes squeezed shut.

“The kids are crying

Good people dying

And he’s it alone.”

The doctors said he feels pain

Yet not a word escapes his inner prison — ;

How does he not inflate like a balloon?

How does he not pop?

But I guess he does pop,

Doesn’t he?

Ain’t that right, pops?

Photo by I.am_nah on Unsplash