I wonder what the inside of your mind looks like.
Thousands of Lilliputians running around constructing your every move;
Gadgets and gizmos winding and grinding, forming epiphany after epiphany;
Paint brushes and pencils scattered on the carpeted floor of your cranium;
A house of mirrors, of distort, not allowing you to see how truly exceptional you are;
A garden blooming with your dreams and aspirations;
A winding staircase wrapped around your medulla oblongata to your cerebellum.
Stepping stones leading to the pure core of you;
I wonder if your mind matches your exterior.