Imaginary
When I get scared,
Or feel alone.
I go to this place,
That I call home.
But where it is,
No one knows.
The view is different,
Where everyone goes.
Tis in my head,
I will admit.
It feels like home,
So there I sit.
Anything,
is possible there.
To a change of clothes,
Or a change of hair.
I create the life,
I wish I had.
To a family,
That's not so bad.
But what I fear,
Is always this.
It's waking up,
From this bliss.
Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.
T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| Unreal | 0 | 07/11/2011 |
| Mask | 0 | 03/28/2011 |
| Found. | 2 | 11/30/2010 |
| Fit In | 1 | 10/01/2010 |
| Imaginary | 0 | 08/15/2010 |
| Destiny | 1 | 08/13/2010 |
| Empty | 2 | 04/04/2010 |
| Mental Warning | 0 | 04/02/2010 |
| Life | 0 | 04/02/2010 |
| Distance | 1 | 05/08/2009 |
| Keep going | 2 | 01/27/2009 |
| God's Tears? | 1 | 01/26/2009 |
| Heart | 3 | 01/25/2009 |
| Insane? | 7 | 01/25/2009 |
| A Game? | 9 | 01/24/2009 |
| Dead.... | 5 | 01/24/2009 |
| Death or Freedom? | 4 | 01/07/2009 |
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