We made up a life for a laugh.
Played house!
A temporary jest!
Yet I haven't the will to end it.
It feels so good to live in pleasantville.
A comfort, even if only ethereal.
To pretend your wanted. To pretend you belong to someones heart.
My soul aches for it to be real, feeds on it as if it were.
Yet it's dying of thirst and drinking sand.
Only intensifying the need, the longing, the desire.
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