I rather like the falsity of it all
It’s like eating spam and pretending it is steak
Driving a Plymouth Duster and pretending it is a Ferarri.
Only sometimes do I wish he were real
That I could touch him
Feel him
Wrap my future around the truth
Instead of wrapping it around his lies.
Someday I’ll have the truth
But it won’t be today
And tomorrow isn’t looking that great either.
He is like the fisherman
That gets a nice fish on the line
And refuses to pull it in
I am the fish
Not quite smart enough
Or able enough
To remove myself.
Somewhere in this
We both get what we want
Probably not hurting anyone
So it continues.
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