He Loved His Own Illusion of Me
With his solid fancy, he built up me
Then loved his own creation with full heart
As soon as he perceived discrepancies
He struck me with his words like poisoned darts
Never did he love me as he thought
It was his own creation, it was he
He threw such rage that in it, I was caught
I am not perfect, that is nothing new
Experiencing such fantasy is pain
It all takes place inside the owner’s self
The people whom we saw won’t come again
Love is a but a dream built up in stealth
How do we escape this wish to find
Another being perfectly designed?
Is it by accepting our own flaws
We are freed from dreaded dragons’ jaws?
We may find our love like a lost coin
If we search the drains to which dirt’s drawn
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