I want to paint Spixworth Park, sitting on the oval, sparkling, cheesy moon, with baby Aliens play peacefully on the climbing frames, talking to their best-friends their green, funny looking faces smiling happily.

I want to paint a fantasy of immortal people dancing under the light of the blue moon, singing to their favourite songs with no frowns in site.

I want to paint the smell of a dosen warm, melted marshmallows,floating around silently around a toasty,red mug of hot chocolate, ready to be drunk eagerly.

I want to paint the smell of cold, damp grass being trampled on by children running down the empty, boring streets heading towards the colourful, not boring park.

I want to paint the memory of my Nan’s old Cockapoo Paddy, rolling around the floor happily, cheering me up by always playing dolls with me when ever he got the chance, when I was younger.

I want to paint the impossibility of all the Marvel Universes combining like all the exciting colours on a extraordinary colour French easel. I want to finally paint the end of this poem.