In my little corner of the world,
This tiny fragment,
Lies the world of my imagination,
The reality I try to escape.
Its hard to say why,
All I really know is that I’m broken,
Somehow wrong.
By no fault,
For no reason,
I was born different.
How many times have I dreamed?
How many times have I wandered?
Those many worlds born from stories,
My own dreams,
My breaking heart of glass.
In my little corner of the world,
This tiny fragment,
Lies the world of my imagination.
A forest of books,
A place full of glass stars hung by red string,
That entangles me and leaves me wondering.
Why did I create this place?
This place that’s already fragile and broken.
This place where I created,
Where I dreamed.
Of desert ruins, of footprints on a distant shore.
Of everchanging worlds, of broken dreams,
Of rusted gears and distant stars,
Of burning flames and falling snow.
The stories of a wanderer, a dancer, a robot, a monster,
All the nameless faces that forever change,
The other me.
Of a broken self,
A broken heart.
That did not yet fully understand the world,
The words it heard and spoke,
The world it loved and soon hated.
In my little corner of the world,
This tiny fragment,
Lies the world of my imagination,
The reality I try to escape.
With the wings of a bird,
With kind hopeful words,
With fairy tale endings,
With stories ruined by reality.
I have tried so many times,
To let myself forget,
To numb the pain I was once blind too.
For long was I unconsciously, unknowingly,
Oblivious and blindly becoming,
Becoming someone else?
Or did I merely wake up,
From the dreams of a child.
The glass stars hung with red string,
The thread that entangles me,
The red color of fate.
Is it even real?
Yet I know my heart is glass,
A burning star,
That is so fragile.
So fragile that even my own thoughts,
My own cruel words.
My inner self, the monster in me,
Easily breaks and traps me.
In those thoughts,
Those emotions that slowly drown me,
That slowly try to snuff out my light.
In my little corner of the world,
This tiny fragment,
Lies the world of my imagination,
The reality I try to escape.
Its hard to say why.
All I really know is that I’m broken,
Somehow wrong.
By no fault,
For no reason,
I was born different.
To be strange,
To be unique.
A fragile being,
A scared child,
Afraid of change,
Yet a want for one.
How many years,
How long will it take?
How can it all change yet,
Also stay the same.
In my little corner of the world,
This tiny fragment,
Where my inner self,
Is still entangled by the thread,
That hold the glass stars,
The glass stars that are lit with my light,
The place I fight reality to keep.
This little corner of the world,
This tiny fragment,
I wish to see,
I wish to live in,
This beautiful broken world;
