Figments of My Reality

A sea of broken traffic lights,
The lone flag in the distance,
The slowly setting sun:
All figments of my reality.

I can’t count the times 
When my heart was crushed:
It feels too constant.
Too steady, too easy.

It all decays.

It’s natural so I’m told.
Part of growing up.
Time passing.
The whole nine yards.

If so, why am I alone 
Here, sitting on a staircase
Wondering whether home is home?
Is it? Who knows.

I escape to the less practical,
The majestic, the fantastical.

Why?

Because I can’t be bothered there.
Who can interrupt my dreams then?
No one.
No one but me.

I can get in my own way.
I can curse myself for it:
“Damn it all, I fucked it up.”
Laugh at my own jokes! 
Why not? No one else will.

"Is that really what you want?"
No.

"Can’t you just do better?"
Of course: how simple!

"Just walk out the door!"
Simple as that, huh?

The real world isn’t a textbook.
No practicing: you get one shot.
One wrong step and you lose.
So why risk it?

The rush,
The thrill of the hunt, 
The emotion you call fake? 
That.

There’s the rub:
How much are you willing to risk?
Next time, I’m saying ‘fuck it.’
And throwing in all I’ve got.