Real Or Imitation?
Like a picture in a frame he’s trapped in his own ways.
More stubborn than a mouse after cheese, even if it’s in a trap.
He spends all his money on his fixation like a child in a toy store.
The smell of smoke soaks to his clothes like water to a sponge.
As forgetful as an elderly person who is senile at times.
With love in one hand and negligence in the other.
His anger can strike fast like a cobra with no sign.
He disappoints me more than he angers me.
I always forgive him for his flaws and he makes it up to me.
Sometimes he makes me feel like an obligation and others extraordinary.
I want more than I’m getting but maybe I’m asking too much.
Or maybe what I thought was real is covered by imitation.
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