Guilty Pleasure

What I say opens the door To a sky you can only dream of. But I can touch it, I can grasp it between hungry fingers That thirst for a purple sunrise (Or red if I wish) And I can envelop myself In white-grey clouds that dare rain. What I hear is superior To anything you could ever interpret. Your scratch of metal on pavement Is my choir of gravel. Your grating cry from a crow Is my sweet symphony solo. Your gasp of fear Is my sigh of solace. What I see is an array Unlike any view you've ever taken in. I can make a silhouette out of bare light, I can manage to imagine When there is nothing before me. I can envision an end When there is no beginning; I can start a fire Without a single spark. You can't touch me. I am a god.