/Imaginary\

--

I sit in the closet corner-

My Imaginary world.

Dark skies, purple beaches,

Acid rain leaves it's imprint in the dirt.

The trees scream in blissful agony,

The shrill cry cutting through the night.

But I can't hear it.

White noise- Unimportant.

Soft buzzing in my ears,

The only rhythm audible.

I blink, look up to the sky,

Billions of blind white eyes stare back,

Twinkling light years away.

Blue lightning slams into the ground,

Thundering with an omnipotent air.

And this chaotic place

Is bathed for a second in shimmering light.

Inside myself,

My Imaginary place,

There's conflict,

My own self-loathing, hate.

I travel further inward

To where the lightning hit.

My hands reach upward,

Eyes drifting shut.

They say lightning doesn't strike the same place twice...

It does in my book.

--

NOVA- If I was a painter, I suppose this would be considered my 'blue period'.