Riddle Me This

 

Tragically beautiful
Or beautifully tragic
she’s what’s left of a trick
once you reveal the magic

You’re made of dust;
The kind from stars
she’s made of lust,
tape, staples and scars

You’re sunrises and sunsets
she’s a mischievous wind
You’re the truth incarnate
she’s the first time you sinned

You look to the stars;
The stuff that makes you
You let out a sigh
And take in the whole truth

The world doesn’t need her
And neither do you
While it stings to hear it
You’ll see that it’s true

she’s nothing
as soon as you look away
a mirage, an illusion
a false fact of the day

You once touched her flesh
And you swear that you’ve kissed
I’m sorry, my friend,
but she doesn’t exist

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