Imagination

I keep iron shackles clasped tight
on this imagination of mine
However much it pleads, curses,
and begs, I mustn't give in

Eventhough it tells me that
if I steal its life away
Leaving a chasm with only walls,
stained with sticky crimson
That the screams will echo
in that hollow cage forever

What is another death
in a world of statistics?
Where if there really was
monsters under the bed
Some children would lie
there as a free offering

Maybe the stars are not
really guardians that kindly guide us
But cruel, pulsing, irises of light
The blue-blooded of this universe
Boring down shamelessly
on people of inconvenience
Laughing in their melodiousness,
the sound ringing across the
Night sky, causing church walls
to tremble timorously

Lighting up faces in the night so
they can see terror as it dawns
Slowly increasing into shallow breathing,
clenched fists
Then no gasping at all

It's best to make sure my
imagination wears a gag
Preventing it from trying to
seduce me to the dark
Reminding coyly of all the nothing
I could be immersed in

It is a drug, an addiction,
making promises seem irresistible
My imagination claims
to be a part of me
But I know it's not,
It is the untold horrors
left out of fairy tales
The silence after I stop
screaming at night

It is the tremors that consume me
when my memories kick in
Iron shackles used to be clasped tight
On this imagination of mine
Now those shackles are broken in two.