Eaten Alive.

There's a monster in my room.
In the evening, it's a benevolent being.
But come morning, it transforms.

Its talons, although comprised of the most deliciously soft cotton, cling on like I might be its last meal. When I try to wriggle free, it squeezes me even more tightly and quietly reminds me of the cold I will have to face if I ever leave.


And every morning I fall for its charms.
Persuasive bastard.