Are We Flying? Poem by Jayne Doe

The face is you fault
And the mirage is mine
Either way,
We see and feel
Things that aren't really there
But in the warped truths
We like to tell ourselves
With out hands clasped
With one another
Skipping to cheerful music
Of a sunny day
With blooming flowers
That stroke the sky
Surrounded by green grass
From the other side

This must be what it's like to fly

Fly...
That's what we call it
Don't let anyone know
That we're falling
With hands that never
Seem to clasp
Swallowed by
The dying grass
With drooping flowers
Beat by rain
The clouds unleashing
All their pain
To somber symphonies
Of faded remains
We are everything
We think we're not
Don't pause
Or the truth is caught

We're flying, babe!
And everyone knows that we're not.