Imagination

Lights bursting, sounds blaring, creatures form from nothing.

A world is created, a story is made, and things begin to make a little more sense.

What doesn't make sense is this, why am I here in my made up world?

Not in reality, but in a fictionality of words and images barely processed.

Am I done with the world, or is it done with me?

Imagination in full throttle, I can't stop it now.

Images form and disappear; words are said and fade into echoes.

Raising action, climax, solution, conclusion, it's over.

Sudden urge to express myself but can't.

Who listens anyway?

Yet, I choose to remember it, and perfect it.

Maybe one day I will succumb to my urge, and let my inner thoughts out.