Monster Under the Bed

We arrive at her place,

Pushing and tugging

Affectionately.

We situate ourselves on her bed.

Unaware of the horrors below.

I stare into her shimmering eyes

A smile playing about my face.

I gently run my thumb over her

Soft hand. My heart skips a beat.

Her face glows in the dim bedroom light.

She leans in closer, laying her head on my shoulder

Her raven hair flows in waves,

Cresting over her shoulder and flowing down

In a lazy, shimmering fashion.

I feel her warm breath against my chest.

She looks up at me with dilated eyes.

The most wonderful oil painting, in my arms.

She looks at peace.

I hope my pounding heart

Does not stir her.

Her head lifts leisurely

And carefully, I run a hand

Through her silken hair.

Leaning in ever closer, her eyes

Drift closed as her lips part.

I join her in this methodic movement, and soon

Our lips connect.

They feel like the pillow

I practiced on in timid preparation

For this very moment.

Our lips interlock even tighter.

Her hand rests on my thigh

While mine runs down her back.

She kisses me ever harder.

She pauses, and smuggly lifts her shirt.

My heart soars.

I hear a horrid yell come from under me.

A rough and weathered hand grips

the bed frame as the owner is dragged out.

An aged face burning red

Screaming countless coarse curses at me.

The weathered hand, as sturdy as a rock,

crashes into the side of my head.

Crimson flows gently down my face.

Burning red.

I hear faint pleading over the soft buzzing in my ear.

Peering through eyes slightly blurry,

the rock can be seen being held back

by the luscious waves of black.

Tears streak the painting, collapsing

to the ground powerless.

One mighty fist lifts me

by my bloodied shirt.

A flurry of stones smash into my skull

as my vision is slowly encapsulated

by raven blackness.