My mind,

is a blank canvas, covered in words.

It ticks like a clock,

giving me the time of imagination,

to live my world, the way I dream it to be.

The words pour from the music, 

that pours from around myself.

The dreams pour from things 

that are dreamed to be but not meant to be.

The imagination pours from the books,

that are deemed to fit a new world.

The colors pour from the scents,

that cover the blank canvas of the world.

To bring me a world of my own,

a machine that ticks, to the beat of an original masterpiece.