The thing in the basement

[Scattered Ambitions]

Before I post my poem, I want to tell you a few things.


1: I'm not sure whether this is a prose or poem, so I'm classifying it as poem. If you know which category it should go in, please tell me.


2: I know, I'm not very good. I'm not the best writer, and I really suck at poetry. It is my weakness, but I felt like giving it a shot.


3: This poem was written at 3 in the morning, by a depressed, sucicidal, sleep deprived author. So no matter, the quality, this is how I'm actually feeling, right now.


4: I'm not going to commit suicide, I just feel like that right now. So don't worry. I'd miss you guys too much if I were dead.


Now, on to the poem.


There is something


In my basement


Something I have been told, many a time to never let out


But I am so lonely


Maybe the monster did nothing wrong


Maybe I can help it


One night, in the darkness of my room, I have an idea


With only the light of the moon


To guide my way


Through the hall


To the door that keeps


The monster asleep


And locked, tight away


I open the drawer


And pull out the key


It finds its way to the lock


And slides itself inside


And creak sounds through the house


And the breathing of the creature kept locked away


Falters, then continues


This time, however, it's coming closer


Every breath it takes,


It comes closer


I can hear it's nails scratch the floor


It's coming closer


It's almost here


I slam closed the door


And run back up the stairs


The thing is hissing, scratching, tearing at the door, begging to be let out


I consider turning back


To help the tortured thing


Then disregard the thought, and leap into my bed


Careful to not let them monsters hiding under my bed touch me


And I sit there


Thinking


What would have happened


Had I let the thing out? Would I be free?


Would the door that keeps me tucked away,


And asleep, have been opened?


I know


I can open the door keeping me here


Myself


But if I did that


The thing downstairs


And the monsters under my


They would be free too


They wouldn't plague my mind anymore


But would it really be worth it


To be free


But watch the world I know


Maybe not love


But something stable, something I know


Destroyed?


By my burdens?


And I think to myself


No.


And lock the door.


The door that keeps me trapped


And the demons inside


Forever.


Never more to open


I curl my legs in


And squeeze my eyes tight


Listening to the monsters scream at me.


Now


Everyday


I take my pills


Stare at the white ceiling


And the padded walls


And keep the monsters inside.

 

[DreamBeat]

I actually didn't know what a prose was until about a week ago, so don't take my word for it, but this looks more like a prose than a poem.

 

[Scattered Ambitions]

I actually didn't know what a prose was until about a week ago, so don't take my word for it, but this looks more like a prose than a poem.

Thank you!