It's true! All my lovers died.
Failure to meet the fantasy contrived.
Fabricated identities swept aside.
Only a reality in which to abide.

Really, to no surprise;
I find myself lonely.
My rouse, casted disguise.
Imaginary 'only'.
My bastion of 'lies'.
Who is the 'phony'?
Rose-tinted eyes.

They get nothing from me.
Nary even the tiniest glint.
I reward them with apathy.
They dutifully serve this stint.

Hoarding, another's mint.
My failures in me.
Covetous greed and glint.
Desire for a possibility.
Promises to keep, I didn't.
Failure to accept reality.
Unreciprocated emails, sent.

Love is the drug I'm looking for.
Fabrications manifest to adore.
An imaginarily brokered store.
Yet, inside is where i need more.

Instead of an ideal killed by reality.