My World

One of the few poems I will ever write a description for. It is simply to describe to my readers that this is what my imagination is to me, what I use it for, and how I escape.

I look at the World around me,

Frowning, I know it’s not real.

This place is just some, sick reality,

A place where no one can feel.

This World does not exist.

People walk by as they stare straight ahead,

Not once do they look to their right.

No one sees, they’re living a lie,

I notice and try, but I’m so filled with fright.

This World here cannot exist.

Barren and bleak, horribly dead,

This world will not last.

But I close my eyes, slowly I smile,

My World is here and colorful and vast.

My World does exist.

My creations, they roam full of vibrant life,

Nowhere to see is decrepit, bad.

Only bright colors and pulsating life

Exist in my world and there, I am glad.

My World can only exist.

In this World, only murder and crime

Exist in an absolute fit.

I know my World will forever live on

But to reach it, you must use the gift.

Imagination exists!

Author's Note

Though there is a description, I would still love to see what you think on this.