no fairy tale

the thing that is not there is never really quiet
it rumbles above the ceiling like a superheated rat
you shouldn't think of the items that form its diet
nor ask what happened to our lovely little cat
the trees at the bottom of the road turn into bears
they ate your cousin when he went down last night
whatever worries you whatever feeds your fears
will still be there at noon in bright daylight
the monsters that live deep inside our heads
we know they're us that they speak with our voices
that they're no more than our projected dreads
but that has nought to do with all our choices
whatever we as children learned to sup
stays with us afterwards when we're grown up