Aisles

In the deepest crevice of my mind there is no light.
The only thing that shines there are the demons full of fright.
They enter every night with their talons and their teeth.
How do I turn them off when there is no switch?
Do I light them with a match or do I scratch away their flesh?
Do I hope they extinguish themselves or go back on their shelf;
each filled with a thought that’s ready for display.
The light floods the aisles with a flicker then a glare.
How much more of this can I take without going up in a flare?