It isn’t real

It isn’t real

Never was, never will be

It’ll start out fine—more than fine really

with sweet stolen rose buds

and promises dipped in honey

and smiles slathered with the fake promise of the fake, fake future

It isn’t real

It’s too late

The dove has set sail

and sleep is hard to come by

For the joy is overflowing

in the hearts of the unlucky, unknown to them

The candied promises swirl mythical realities in her head

Everywhere she looks there is now a small pocket of joy waiting to be found

And the sweet promises weave hope of leaving the painful past behind

It isn’t real

Her brain whispers

It is real

Her heart whispers back

She is finally happy

She can finally see the end of it

She can finally see her life get easier

Against all odds, she was finally happy

It isn’t real

Because when she is finally happy

there goes the dove

Where is it now?

the dove is now perched in another’s nest

It always had one foot in there anyways—she was just too drowned in sticky glee to see it

But the dove continues to sing a lullaby of love to the loyal girl

While feeding false delusions to the world

'She’s just an amateur—disgusting—unloyal—undeserving—Vile'

It isn’t real

You’ll think it is

But it never is

and it never will be

And as the now ugly dove flies away

She crumbles to the ground, as the world suffocates her

And eats what little has remained

For the bird was a vulture in disguise who merely whispered deceptive lies