To kill an imagination is a terrible thing.
As the years go by, we slowly starve
our God given escape.
We're boring.
Cubicle drones.
White dress shirt and a tie.
Bored enough to die.
Imagination's dead.
You call it growing up.
I call it murder.
What'd it ever do to you?
Made you creative.
Gave you a life beyond your own.
Provided an escape
From the incessant recycling of your day to day,
week to week,
year to year,
birth to death,
life.
Crucified in your "grown up" mind.
Dead on your desk.
Between the keyboard and the coffee.
One dead imagination.
One dead person.
One dead world.
















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