It’s not about what you told me,

but what I chose to believe.

Nothing feels worse than living

an imaginary dream.

And they occur so often and freely

whenever Satan creeps in.

By the time I breathe, and count to ten

it’s over and I have to start again.

When I dream while awake, the ending

usually involves an earthquake.

No you can’t tell me what to believe.

The display that you set before me,

are the words that I built around

my dream.

You were with me, but not in your mind.

No you were somewhere else, all the time.

I saw what I wanted to believe

your words were nothing

‘til I accepted them for truth.

That is how I let you deceive me.

Never be anxious to accept the

empty flattery of words

often they end with sadness

and crying.

I chose to believe what you said

I wanted your promises to be

proof of your affection.

All I got was dishonest discretion