I looked for monsters in the depths
but found none, save the ones
I took down with me.

We cohabited, my monsters and I
in darkness where they sat around, 
knocking back salty cocktails and telling
stories from my past while they played two-up
with pieces from my heart. 

I owned the monsters, but in the dark
the monsters owned me.

But while I thought we were alone, my monsters and I
I was wrong: other things live
in the depths. Other things came creeping out of shadows
and down walls. 

In the depths there are old friends, armed
with jokes we used to tell, and G&Ts served
in pretentious bars where the cover bands look
tantalisingly European.

New friends come with bottles 
of Moet, and lilies that burst open
on Monday mornings, and kind eyes
over skinny lattes. 

Phone calls without warning
hugs from strangers, roadtrips
cold hard facts over hot food
summer elbowing into September
family: complex and obnoxious and loving

these things too are in the depths
and the monsters seem less monstrous
in company. 


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