My Ideal Image of You

I remember you well,
or I wish that I did,
my memory fades with my will.
I realize it, too, and I remain still,
you didn't really exist.

There in my mind, my thoughts unrefined,
your image idealized in mine.
I imagine the signs, and I look past the clues,
then lay in self-pity and sing to the blues.

Your power, to me, undoubtedly,
is genius in all its perfection.
The thoughts I compose
in this broken prose
are for you
and your careful selection.

So, sing to me, unrelenting beauty.
Tell me that it will be fine.
Don't look at the time,
we're here right now,
and we'll be okay forever.
You ease my constant terror
and look past my every error,
of which there are many.

I'm carried in tow by
the lies I've engrossed,
and the false image of the world
I've been sold.

I buy again and again
at the cost of my heart,
at the cost of my body and mind.
Perfection exists and we are not it,

there is nothing to fix. 

The excuses are great
as are what I confront
in the form of my delusions.
If I can accept, I am just a student
working my way through confusion,
I won't need you in my fantastic illusion,
I will simply be as I am.