A lie often repeated, even to oneself, becomes a fact.
A fact that is your truth.
A fact that has your sanctity.
A fact that has your confidence.
A fact with conviction.
A fact with faith.
A fact with your trust.
And you are so sure with that assumption or that lie,
that when the truth comes back to haunt you,
you hide in the thickest blanket ever.
In a state of induced oblivion.

Oblivion is the place where all my best thoughts reside or I must say hide.
Because Where I will find peace other than in oblivion?
So, yes, that unreal thing is real.
the truth is now untrue.
Indeed, it's a  happy world
when you just don't have a clue.

*"The great events of life often leave one unmoved; they pass out of consciousness, and, when one thinks of them, become unreal. Even the scarlet flowers of passion seem to grow in the same meadow as the poppies of oblivion.” - Oscar Wilde