A poem (my 32nd)

A world, Set apart, as in one's own mind
To see things, and want things, that you may never find
the desire, in mind, can drive you insane
so completly, and fillingly, from the all the pain.

A world, Set apart, to see things a little different
to be at war, with one's self, never quite content
the purile pain, eating away, at my soal
as if to bring my death, was the absolute goal

A world, Set apart, but always the same
never quite alone, but so far from fame
But there is a point, to this endless debate
to make someone happy, even if for you, it brings hate.