Descending into Madness

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In the dim halls of cold steel and stone,
A guard walks his rounds, utterly alone.
His mind whispers tales, not one of them kind,
Of monstrous beings in human guise entwined.

Through iron bars, he squints to see
Tentacles, fangs, where men should be.
Each pleading eye, a portal to fears,
Every shadow confirms his tears.

He hears their voices, not words but roars,
In every language of distant shores.
Claws scraping concrete, scales beneath skin,
Locked away safely, the monsters within.

He grips his keys like a sword at war,
Against creatures from every cosmic shore.
Their crimes rewritten in cosmic ink,
He’s the keeper of more than mortals think.

Yet in quiet moments, under flickering light,
He shudders to feel their real plight;
For sometimes the monsters we fervently dread
Are not in the cells, but in our head.