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If no such truth can be held,
then how do I hold her body?
How do I keep her so near to mine?
Still she fades when I open my eyes.
How do I feel her warmth at night?
I feel nothing else in the day, nothing at all,
sharp, cold steel in hand, and yet I can't help but feel
a certain numbness in the crimson water I drink.
Why does she keep my dreams company?
If I’m the killer,
then why is the man in the mirror dead?
Why am I not with her?
I cannot stay with her,
She isn't real and neither am I,
so why can't I bar her from my prison,
where she is the only thing I cannot control?
A lack of actuality can be felt,
my heart melts in her non-existing hands,
her eyes strike through my soul,
her smile cripples my being.
Where am i that I cannot touch her,
yet she molds me to how she sees fit?
My heart races for her,
Yet she stops it with nothing more than a word.
If the question is “does she exist?”
The answer is no,
If the question is “is she real?”
The answer is yes.