What liars we are,
Writing romance
And adventure
And beautiful mystery
Into fruitless lives.
For a moment,
It feels like the truth.
Then the laptop shuts,
The pen drops,
And we are pulled back
Into tedious reality
And disappointment floods our veins.
What liars we are,
Living so deep inside our heads-
Hiding in our deluded dreams
Pretending, for a simple moment,
That this is our reality.
But the bliss is temporary.
Every time, we go deeper in,
And fall harder out.
YOU ARE READING
Phosphenes
Poetry"The colours aren't real. Words bring them alive." An iridescence of poetry.
