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