It gets real hard to
keep track of the little imps
that run around inside my head
a healthy dose of ****
television and video games
keep them occupied for a while
but then their right back at it
a devilish whirling dervish
that keeps me up far longer than the sun
and when they get hungry
I crave a cigarette strangely enough
and I give them words
to keep them big and strong
but not too strong
I can't have them breaking out
and leaving me all alone
so i keep them hostage
praying for Stockholm syndrome
It wouldn't be real love
but it would be enough
because I would be so happy
if anybody read my work
but never satisfied
being an unknown poet
The imps in my head
are prideful creatures
that want to be known
in the legend books
as the biggest strongest imps around