If this life is a figment of my imagination
then i am twisted in every sort of way
If my life is a figment of my imagination
where my mind makes up the reality around me
then i have a sick sense of humor.
and Oh God, i'm surprised that
i haven't yet given myself a tumor,
If i'm the "primes cause" as they say
and the things i perceive are
the only ones which i can prove
then why the hell am i creating
Because somehow i like
creating a reality of a man
who is perfect in every sense of way
who is my idea of prince charming
you could say
then i add a minor detail of how
he has no interest in me.
Moreover, to add some sugar to the cake
i'll put together some other guys who like ME
and whom i have no interest in.
and because my mind is really something
I'll imagine, greed, famine, hate and war
then i say it is so that i cannot have a hand
in changing that reality
or if i do, it is on no massive scale.
That odd sense of humor
decrees it so that
i can imagine a reality
in which i cannot bring forth
unicorns, neither can i fly or
or do anything intrinsically
or have it go my way.
Rather it seems my imagination
overall dwells on suffering
and takes its sweet pleasure in it.
it is crippled and unsupportive
and if the life i see
is a figment of my imagination,
then we're all screwed.