I draw people,

And I receive compliments on said drawings,

But can I really draw them well?

Capture the essence of what makes them special?

Beautiful?

I don’t draw so much anymore.

I can’t put my own ideas to the paper,

And I’ve no interest in what’s out there in the real world.

I wish I could bring these ideas to life.

Perhaps it would be soothing,

Getting them out of my mind.

I could pretend they’re real for a moment.

If I loved someone real,

Would that push away the ache of longing?

Would I want to draw them over and over and over again?

Or would I not need to,

Because whenever I wanted

I could see them?

It’s not a dangerous game,

Sticking your nose in a book,

But if you’re anything like me it’s a melancholic one,

Because you’ll desperately wish you could stay there,

And then your real life will pull you back.