I like her lies even more than I like mine,
For hers very well could be true.
It's perilous to steer a mutually-exclusive reality
With merely the rudder of my own,
But at the pink moment the hero learns why
He journeyed this far, past the utility of breathing,
For now he knows how to mourn
The kind fools who came before him
Who thought there was something to be gained
Beyond the gift of getting nothing.
The river leads whatever life I need to live —
How tragic that I needed her to show me.
