Saxophone tones vibrate out of memory, we never lived like that, we never danced under the midnight sky. We worried and hurried, but we never romanced the world, we never made the moon smile, and we never made the stars weep.
Imagination is a treasure chest of lies, and we dig it up and soil the contents. We prove to our make-believe friends that things could have been different, and we laugh artificial laughs and swear artificial love.
Ignore the broken bird drowning in the gutter, suffocating on leaves and filth and your ridiculous life. It mocks you, even as it dies, and floats away before you can explain yourself.
Split-wheel shopping cart, navigated across the rush-hour highway, carrying dead babies and hopes; and angry men in ties only honk and swear and never slow down.
We all know about scraped knees and attention tears, but only the truly evil construct a life around them, holding hostage the ones who care, who will never care again. Crying wolf isn't nearly as harmful as merely crying.
Stepping on sunshine, wishing it would scream, and caressing the shadows, wishing they could love. Standing tall, so tall, black eyes and split lips, and arms with fingerprint bruises all over. He'll kill you next time, but then he won't be able to hurt you after that. So hold your parade, down the grocery store aisle, and let the looks of pity fall on you like ticker tape, and the whispers roar like a street-lined cheer.
Everyone wins, eventually. Every time you fall, you land on a lower level, where you have a better chance of being the best.
Let us sing our nightmares to sleep, and make love on their smiles. For tomorrow is another day to fail.