It’s not me that so amazing,
It’s the emotions I feel,
It’s a constant craving,
I could go on an endless spiel.

In the cavity of my brain,
I feel flowers of fire in bloom,
So lovely it nearly causes pain,
A heady spicy, Indian fume.

People are in there too,
Stories, heroes and romance,
They are impossible to subdue,
Their bare feet are caught up in dance.

Entire worlds and endless seas,
Colour so divine, so intense,
Faerie voices in the ticklish breeze,
Experiences overwhelming every sense.

Then here I am at my ordinary desk,
Holding a pen in my hand,
Trying to make a boring life less grotesque,
Trying to meet my internal demand.