Invisible

Infinite world, my only escape. Infinite world, the life I hate. My hand is cramping as I write. But I don’t care. I still fight. The lead is scraping paper thin, Slicing air with every spin. Infinite world, my one place. Infinite world, my only safe space. My pencil was once unused, Unmarked, clean, and unbruised. My hand was once unsure, Quiet, soft, and insecure. Not that it truly speaks now— What a silly thought, somehow. But still, it knows things I feel. Knows my mind is an Ikea deal. A maze, chaotic and strange, Loud, cluttered, full of change. Some ideas are tied in lace, Others scattered all over the place. Imagination runs wild and free, Ideas twist: “You love me, I see.” Infinite world, my real disguise. The place where truth always lies. Infinite world, I feel its pull. Infinite world, my heart feels full.