I live in an imaginary house,
Full of imaginary doors and
Imaginary people.
They tell me about the imaginary world,
Beyond the imaginary walls
Of this imaginary house.
I believe them
In my own imaginary way.

My imaginary cares are carried off by
An imaginary wind.
I dance the night away with my
Imaginary friends,
And hope that my imaginary sleepless night
Will never end.

My imaginary heart still wishes for
Imaginary love,
Which is now an imaginary wish,
Lost in an imaginary darkness.
I wish I was imaginary too.

Imaginary Boy
builds imaginary walls so tall he trumps the Taj Mahal.
He walks corridors to imaginary doors
where he stores his love in hoards of fantasies,

but he figures her
the mystery,
the puzzle to be solved.

Imaginary boy
composes stormy melodies.
He plays them through
imaginary seas,
but in his heart it is the sirens,
with songs diminished, sickly,
who claim his ship for the fiery deep.

While he fills his pockets with stone, he screams,
"I stored my love in hoards on board, and she's taken all I have!"

Imaginary Boy
lives in a dream, but never sleeps.
Quietly, he mumbles, "That woman, she makes me bleed."
but she could never penetrate that deep,
because he cannot see her
through his warped expectations.

Imaginary Boy
doesn't know that love resounds infinitely through our mentality,
and cognitively,
it is our decision to love,
and we decide how to love,
and who to love

Imaginary Boy,
love is a verb, never a noun,
and so very real,
so very profound,
that the loving cannot be real
if the expectations are imaginary.