This is nobody's dream anymore.
This is real, so surreal
And everybody plays a part in
This twisted game of fate.
I hate, she hates, they hate, he hates
We hate.
This calling, that key.
Our pain. Our misery.
And all we see ahead of us
Are the mornings of light and the evenings of dark
We never rest from the hectic fight.
How can we? We could die.
But that's life. Our life.
This is nobody's dream anymore.
There aren't any heroes. There's no glory, no pride
In taking another's life.
Why raise the sword to start a new fight?
This is Hell.
What we thought would be romantic adventure
Is now hellish despair.
How could we ever compare
This nightmare to our fantasies?
We were ignorant to ever believe, to ever conceive
The consideration that THIS was a dream…
And we were wrong.
This is a sick game. This is a twisted fate.
This is nobody's dream anymore.
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This drabble-poem is about all the turmoil of the Keyblade, the Darkness, the Light, and all that good stuff. Or, not so good stuff….meh.