Life is a placebo.
Endless obstacles,
difficulties to overcome.
Eyes set on goals
we'd thought we'd achieve
even if it drained us
of all but an inkling
of hope.
Lies on parchment
the truth of life,
and I am but a quotation,
repeating words of false hope
so others can believe
we don't all die
wishing to amend
even one
mistake.

I am but punctuation to your wonder;
though not the important kind.
The optional kind.
The forgotten kind.