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I live in an imaginary house,
Full of imaginary doors and
Imaginary people.
They tell me about the imaginary world,
Beyond the imaginary walls
Of this imaginary house.
I believe them
In my own imaginary way.

My imaginary cares are carried off by
An imaginary wind.
I dance the night away with my
Imaginary friends,
And hope that my imaginary sleepless night
Will never end.

My imaginary heart still wishes for
Imaginary love,
Which is now an imaginary wish,
Lost in an imaginary darkness.
I wish I was imaginary too.
Pseudoblepsia Definition: a false or imaginary vision.
To the whispering trees
I tell my darkest secrets
With my hungry sight

And they understand

And as I walk through
The sound of ticking clock
With my hands
In my pockets full of sand

I realize I give no love
To this world
And no love I get back

I just stare.

And I think...
Think...
Think.

Why's the sound so hollow?
Am I here?

And the clock stopped ticking
Trees weren't whispering anymore
Waves ate what was left
Of my wrinkled soul

Now I'm a flinching body
With a case of thoughts

Have you ever listened?

Lazy silence
Heavy breath of what's unsaid
Running through the foggy gardens

Ops...

So I swallowed my own hand
Reached for heart that wasn't mine
Snatched it out and bottled up
And just threw it to the ocean

No, I haven't. Have I?
Marlo Jun 2014
I'm not going to lie to you and tell you there aren't any monsters,
Nor am I going to sugarcoat the facts,
People are monsters, kid.
Humanity is imaginary.
Everybody chewing each other's ears with horrible remarks,
Making glass eyes fall out with every piercing stare.
Skin breaking with each hit.

So I don't understand why we check for monsters beneath the bed,
When they are obvious,
All around us.
Causing suicide and death.
Allowing people to fill our head,
Our heart.

That's when the real damage starts.
The monsters possessing us.
Their strong magic,
So called love.
Strong force,
Squeezes our hearts and makes it pulse.
Causing cracks,
Until it rips out of our chest,
And finds a new home in who made it that way.

So yes, monsters are real.
They are in your classes,
And in your home.
They are passing you in the store,
And they are lying to you.

But the realist part about this,
Is you're a monster.
As am I.
We are all born this way.
Humanity is imaginary.
We are all monsters.
Hm.
. *** .
September May 2014
i wanted sin and *** appeal,
but you were my achille's heel.
i singed my skin so i could no longer feel
what's real, unreal—
what's real—
—unreal
you're not real
not real
i Apr 2014
perhaps, you are
only in my mind,
but you are surely
destroying it.
i Apr 2014
let's go away at night.
go to our imaginary land and take your guitar.
i'll play away the time, singing our song.
joining the stars in the beautiful dance,
the dance of happy tears.
let's scream as loud as we can,
let the world know we're awake at night.
let's create a dream,
a dream we should visualize when we're feeling down.
let's leave this world and go away together.
go live a perfect dream.
Daylight 4U2C Apr 2014
I just want someone to care.
To notice, when I'm not there.
To stay by my side.
To let me cry.
I don't want to be judged.
I just want to be loved.
I don't care how far,
I don't care if you've receded,
I just want to know
that I am needed.
It's not creepy.
Certainly not.
It's just odd,
to read what's been thought.
I love the imaginary,
who exists.
I love the birds,
and bees.
I love the sky,
and seas.
I'm waiting.
I'm watching.
Watching the world.
Thinking about it,
I've come to notice.
You help me even now.
Because I don't know who you are,
I spend so much time thinking,
wondering,
contemplating elatedly,
to the point I don't even think,
about..
the world anymore.

All I care about it this beautiful,
wondrous,
ponderous,
distraction of mine.
And this image in my mind,
it may not be you,
but I may know some day.
This love is true.
This love is so much.
I don't even know what to do.
This love of mine,
I await.
I will wait.
I'm waiting.
I'm watching.
Watching the world.
The world will pass me by,
and in the end..
I will have you,
and hold your hand.
The collected dust,
will tell a story.
True love does exists. You just have to be patient.

— The End —