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There's a place where I shut myself away. Laugh and cry with no worry of what others say. It's a little secret, no one knows where it is. And no one seems to notice, where I go to be missed.
I sit in my dream world full of slumber, Until you pop up, I start to wonder.
My mind wide open, My eyes shut tight,. Feel the warmth on my face, Shimmering rays of sunlight. Want to drift off to my world, Want my mind to close,.
I daydream. In fact I dream in the day more than in my sleep. I just sit and stare. People say its not fair. And when someone wakes me up. In my seat I jump. I don't care where I am or what time it...
My world is a fantasy, A fiction land, a dream, My world is a bag of ideas, Bursting at the seams.
Inky pages,. Leather bound,. Filled with secrets,. Never found,. Messy writing,. Confused words,. Filled with poems,. Never heard,. Ink splatters,. Green and blue,. Filled with things,.
Under the sheets. A mystical event. A magical world. I'll tell you the current. Where parents and jobs. Are all forgotten. Escape from the real world. Forget the rotten. I wish I could stay.
I know my own heart and mind, But it is hard to tell how I feel, Understanding myself, It is a big deal, It makes me wonder sometimes, About how things tick...
In my mind I'm living in this truly special place, Escaping to my thoughts where I don't have to show my face.
For the silent man, His river runs very deep, Many think him mute in his speech, No one actually knows him, Or his thoughts or his feelings.
My eyes are the portal to my soul If you look closely it will take you whole It will show you the wonders of my mind Within there who knows what treasures you'll find.
Walls surround me, Too much white. Padded cage, Much too bright. Doctors rush in, Give me a shot. Whether it helps, I know not. Crash at the sides, Easily deflected. No one helps, I feel neglected.
People who've not met me Know little of me. People who know me Have never met me. Am I the only one who keeps their creative side a secret from the world.
Look inside the dreamers brain, Its so full of ideas, you see, It could never be mundane. Thoughts are buzzing all around, like a busy bee.
Tick-tock tick-tock, tick-tock, went his mind. The fuse was steady burning, he was sure to blow in time. Material possessions, Hell, they could be replaced.
When I'm trying to escape my reality. I sit myself beneath the Opussian Tree. There I'll stay and take it all in. I am pure there, stripped of sin. Never did you see such a beautiful place.
My thoughts are my own, My expressions, private. To the world, I'm a closed book, cold and withdrawn. Inside, I'm warm, loving and considered.
They are a special part of me, I suppose. There were countless times when I have wanted to write especially for each of them. But there's only so much about my characters that I can tell.
You register every glint, every dazzle, Of the purity that surrounds us, But only through your eyes, Would we be able to understand your experiences.
Everything I ever learn I store inside my head. In tiny little boxes coloured yellow green and red. Most of it is good to use and therefore is free.
If you gained entrance to my mind I'm pretty sure that you would find All manner of fantastic things Bumbledogs with fold out wings A list of all of England's kings Songs to make your spirit sing And...
And now I try to close my eyes, to rest, to sleep, to fantasise.
I write this from my bed. Every morning, when I'm still lying in my bed in that glorious half-awake state, I like to watch the light. The beam of light that spills through the crack in my curtains.