The monster under my bed

Never sleeps or rests at night,
But prefers to whisper to me
And keep me awake
With his sly, taunting voice.
He listens to all of my conversations
And twists them into fear,
Poking at my weaknesses.

The monster in my closet
Lives with all my skeletons
And reminds me every day
Of their perpetual, heavy existence.
At night he watches me
From the darkness of the closet,
Injecting numbness and ache
Into me as I sleep.

The monster in my mirror
Waits for me each day without fail
To mock me and point out my flaws.
As I prepare for the day,
He is there to tell me
That the shirt I'm wearing is ugly
And that nobody could ever
Think that I look pretty.

These monsters are very real
In my world, but in reality
My bed sits directly on the floor,
The only things in my closet are clothes,
And my mirror shows no one but myself.