Distortion

It is not a lie
It is a mix of potential reality
With fussed tricky adjectives
And ambiguous connotations
A wish disguised of astonishment
Condescendence dressed up as admiration
A cynical deceitful joke
No, it is certainly not a lie
It is just this milk I breastfeed you
Made of hopes, tenderness, and distortion
It is not fake, but modulation and reinforcement
No, it is not phony
When it has a poetical license for illusion
It is a desire wearing a whore makeup
A selfish self-sacrifice
For a ritual of strengthening
By bathing you in my own blood
For this precious gist extraction
That I compulsively consume
It is not a scene, it is a lucid dream
Built with a lousy censorship
To glorify my highness through inversion
Not genuine neither false
It is an artistic reconstruction
For this delusional mental model
Of you inside my mind
It is not a show
It is a script of your fears and tears
Read and reversely-engineered
Into comforting pseudo characters