What if beauty is just an illusion?
What if those alluring flowers—
Are just made by our creative visions.
What if literature doesn’t exist?
What if prominent poetries—
Are just emotional fantasy beasts.
What if Elizabeth I, didn’t really live?
What if they made her—
Just to mold an inspiration for us to believe.
What if we really don’t have families?
What if we just made them—
To polish our longing bliss.
What if I’m just an illusion?
What if you are all actors—
Filming just to visualize my imagination.
What if…I kill myself?
What if I’ll end—
All the agonies that makes me deaf.
Will someone be there?
None! Because each of you are just illusions—
That fades when I need you here.
The world, taught me to be an illusionist.
But because of these, I’m agonizing.
Can I end these lies now?
That forms melancholy?
That is illusionary?