There is a place I go,
that swallows me whole,
when I allow my eyes to rest.
In this place,
my mind thrives,
and I have no say,
as to what use my thoughts are put to.
Here,
I am small and feeble,
swallowed by darkness,
and drowned,
in the hues of shadowy black,
and morbid red discoloring.
In this place,
my writing comes to life.
Wrecking all in its' path,
including myself.
This place I speak of,
is simply my imagination.
And it takes hold whenever it is given the chance.