Where does it get me? My mind is filled with hopes and dreams and impossible possibilities.
My imagination makes me feel naive—ignorant to the realities of the world I’ve survived in.
Fuck my imagination.
It embarrasses and taunts me with fantastic fantasies in a make-believe world.
Fantasies of attaining the happiest happily ever after.
Fuck my imagination.
It’s where I can reach for stars, sit atop a cloud, touch a rainbow.
But what good is that?
Fuck my imagination.
It does me no good on its own. It only serves as an inspiration to conquer procrastination.
