We lip sync our wedding vows;
The ghostwriter behind his ironic typewriter,
His image more refined than his words.
Clamouring away at promises that mean nothing to him,
And nothing to them.
For lust overthrows the king of the heart.
Give him one more flash of that fake smile,
Just there, stop, hold time for a moment.
Forget that downhill is our road from here.
Though love is now but a game,
Interpreting actions by theoretical names,
Care only initiated by those who are separated:
Their money at stake.
At what time did responsibility, give way to a sense of entitlement?
That ones time is better spent living a destructive dream,
Than creating a lasting legacy.
We grab hold to our expectations,
Fabled fantasies burn with cliché.
They are our destiny, Or so we seem to think.
We are not paid to care,
We do not have time to try,
And we wonder why we are lost.
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