What is Real

Time is slow,
like the motions of my life,
slipping slowly into the crescent moon
that you lay upon
like some distant damsel that haunts me in my sleep,
How can I forget you,
when everything on this earth
is branded with the soft curve of your waist.
I can't find you,
I search for you recklessly through a thin ring of social acceptance and a cheap bottle of wine that surrounds me like a cloud of smoke,
but I can't recognize you.
I ache for something familiar to wrap my arms around.
My heart remembers what I seem to forget,
and the facade I put up reeks of a less sincere me.
My lies taste like battery acid in my mouth,
and in this intricate web of deceit i wove so artistically with my long meticulous fingers,
I only feel connected to you.