Dichotomy

Daze

What makes a memory?

What is truth and what is the lie?

Did she really suffer?

Or is the pain made up to mask her feel of insignificance?

The years of youth and jovial laughter, their memories are hazy...

Shrouded in a daze.

Dragged beneath the surface, and chained within false hope.

I know the hollow poison within my chest is real.

I can feel the deep dull ache that lingers and grows the more it heals.

Were the people I befriended... There?

Did I fall in love with a figment of my imagination?

Spinning, spinning, spinning...

What is it that's real and red in my thinking?

I see bars of iron and ivory covering my walls,

The sky is a multitude of blue and a gargantuan black hole.

My head aches and throbs as I try to remember...

What was so shrouded and spiked in the daze that burdened me further?

Why can't I remember?

What was real?