Fake Scenarios

We're holding hands 

I cling on to you, mine to keep.

And I know you're not leaving 

Because of the way you're

Holding on to me

Like I'm someone too precious 

To let go off.

 

You tell me 

That life would be bland 

Without my presence near yours.

But would you know 

How desperate my heart 

Would feel without your love?

I think this as I gaze 

At your earthy brown eyes.

 

Smack!

I fall flat on my face. 

Back to reality, back to what is.

You're holding hands with another girl,

As I see you walk towards me.

You reach out a hand for mine

As the other girl makes sure I'm fine.

It's a short time

When my hands are intertwined with yours.

I silenetly laugh at my habit.

 

Oh, it's never going to be like that.

It's just another thought that my imagination 

Decided to create

In order to trick my heart 

Into what cannot be.

 

Another day, another time.

I see you running around 

With our friends.

You're smiling, making jokes

Without a care.

I approach and you run over eagerly,

Hugging me like I've been gone

For ages on end.

 

"Hey! Wait up!"

I snap my attention 

To someone else.

It's not you. 

And I'm happy.

It's someone who's a better friend 

Than you ever were.

 

They ask if I'm alright.

If I've ate yet.

If I need help. 

I tell them, 

"No, I'm fine, I was just daydreaming.

Nothing important."

But I realized that I've become addicted.

Addicted to my damaging immagination.

Something so sweet that can be so sickening.

 

Creating fake scenarios;

An addiction oh-so sweet.

Immagination;

Using it to the brink of mental destruction.

So easy to manipulate,

Yet so difficult to dispose of.

Reality can sometimes be a pain.

But it's a monster that's needed 

To soothe the addiction.

 

My mind lacks the filter

To stop the power of my immagination.

Sometimes, it makes it difficult 

To understand what is fiction

And what is nonfiction.

Leading to mentally create people

Into what they really aren't.

 

But don't thoughts manifest 

When you least expect it?

Is it a reason why my immagination 

Loves to create what I know will never be?

You tell me.

 

Tell me it will happen for once.

So this addiction

Will take its leave.

And take its final bow.

This poem is about: 
Me

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