One rainy day, in the middle of a street.
Sat a young teenage girl, with chuck-clad feet.

She wore several different shirts and purple skinny jeans.
She sat with her head down and her hands on her knees.

Her name was Draven, and at school she was teased.
But not in her own little world where she could do as she pleased.

The sky could be green, and the grass could be blue.
The clouds could be purple and a bunny could too.

Trees could have polka-dots and dirt could have stripes.
So long as no one caused her pain or strife.

The roads always empty, and the buildings abandoned.
She had every park, every swing, every sandbox to play with.

As she leaves, the colors will drain.
Pooling and puddling in the streets again.

The walls, the grass, the water and the sky.
Sit there, lifeless waiting until she drops by.

In this bland little world where she'll do as she pleases.
She sits in the street, thinking up patters to paint trees with.

Swirling colors move without help from her hand.
As she sits, creating her own little land.

In her own little world, in her twisted little mind.
Where she does as she pleases and spends most of her time.

She sits in a tree looking out on her world.
Until her mother calls to her, wanting a word.

All the colors around her swirl and fall away.
But she feels no sadness as her world turns grey.

For she knows in her heart and she knows in her mind.
That she'll be here tomorrow, at just about the same time.