The Imaginary, poem (122/365)

My head wants it to be true
But I can’t tell if it is
I’m sure hungry men
Dream of food
And I’m sure deaf
Dream of sounds
And I’m sure blind
Dream of sight
I’m just trying to figure
Fact or fiction
Would I really let you slip away
Or did I never have you
I’m told our minds play tricks
But part of me believes
That maybe I’m right
Maybe I won
But through it all away
Because I didn’t understand
the game
But I think that maybe I tried
So hard to make myself believe that
So I wouldn’t have
To deal with the pain

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