My imagination is in a box
It sits on a shelf beside my heart in its cage
It has a lock on it
But it breaks often and escapes
Then it roams doodling on the walls
In a magic marker that won’t scrub off
It makes funny faces at me
Trying to get a response
Some days I ignore it as it babbles
Incoherent in the back of my mind
Others I embrace it and we laugh like jackals
Dancing about like we dwealt in Bedlam
And sing out the troubles of the world
For the vorpal blade to slay
__________________
Burn Burn Burn
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