I own this poem. Please realize
That to claim it is to plagiarize.


The shadows cast give me a dread
As I lie awake in bed.
My stories read, my work complete-
A day of work has left me beat.

But one thing keeps my mind aware:
The darkness' many nighttime scares
Caused by my thoughts which swirl around
Imagination now unbound!

Each whisper of wind a demon hides
And in each corner, a ghost resides.
The spirits of fiction haunt their lair
Forgetting that I'm still in there!

Heebie-jeebies crawl and creep
As I try to fall asleep.
"These things are false," I tell myself,
"Lies from the books upon my shelf;

"The fears they give are all pretend,
That's why each has a dismal end.
To make me fear, to entertain
My mind with some fictional pain.

"That one's by Poe-" Isn't he dead?
How did he die? ...Were his stories fed
By harsh reality? Were they actually true?
A record of the grief he knew?

"Of course not! See, that one that's gory?
It says on its label, it's just a story.
There's no raven in your room,
No vampires to bite you anytime soon.

"Frankenstein's monster was a fraud
And your mind deceives you." I start to nod,
Submitting my thoughts to rhyme and reason,
Forgetting the lies of my brain's treason.

I close my eyes and picture that
The rustle outside is some stray cat,
The howl in my ears is just a breeze,
The click-click-click,my knocking knees.

When the dreading and doubts cease
I drift away to sleep in peace.
And with my thoughts so sweet and mild,
I don't notice I've lost my inner child.