I dig deep
Into my mind,

And come up with a
World 
That does not
Exist.

You will not find
It in a newspaper,
Or a book,
Or in your TV's
Flickering phosphors.

It lives in my
Mind

A vision that no one
Else can see

My mindmovies roll
Ceaselessly on

The actors are my creation

The plot is mine
Alone

I can do anything

In this world,
I am God.

Or at least a
Reasonable facsimile.

The people in my
Dream are real

Yet they have never
Lived

Except in my imagination

My vision sees places
That never were

I speak to people who
Live with me

Within me.

The characters live
For a shining moment

They exist in all
True sense of the
Word.

They breathe,
They laugh,
They cry,
Yet they never really
Existed.

They are but 
Fragments of my 
Complex
Psyche,

Each person like
A shard of broken
Mirror...

Each a piece of the

Original.

Do I write for immortality?

Do I write for expression?

Do I write for solitude?

I write to stay alive.

Without my brief visits
From my psyche's shards,
I would be raving
As I acted out my
Most perverse
Fantasies.

With them,  I am 
Sane.

They are my psychiatrists,
They are my therapists,
But, most of all,
They are my friends.

For an all-too-brief
Time, they live and
Breathe
Beside me.

After the curtain
Closes on the
Performance
They disappear back
Into my mind

And the mirror is
Whole again.

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