It's funny, how I can envision fantasy.
Daydream, or write, or make it said.
But visions of reality are just lacking.
As though what my eyes see,
Just won't go in my head.

It feels like my fates thread when created.
Was simply, thrown up and strung along.
With no thought, or consideration,
If when born weight, it could even stay strong.

And as I try, to follow said string.
Hoping I can use, just a little, to mend.
All that I've not seen as I've been packing.
Those little fantasies,
That are stuck in my head.

So I sit with virtual paper,
Pulled taught by the corners of my soul.
Writing my thoughts of sweet fiction.
To someone, I'll likely, never know.