It's not real. None of it.
When the sun rises, we can see how flowers bloom such bold and vibrant displays that put rainbows to shame. We can hear birds sing glorious tunes of heaven's joy that make the choruses of angels begin to sweat and shake, fearing impending unemployment. If I'm not mistaken, the world's biggest apple pie has been in the oven for about forty minutes, and it's ready to come out, sending waves of sweet cinnamon through the air!
But night falls, and we see the truth.
There are no flowers, only failure and forgotten dreams. There are no birds, only incompetence and sickness take flight.
"But what about that pie," you ask? Your hunger betrayed your senses, and when you opened your mouth to take a bite, everyone you've ever loved hurled you into the snapping, slimy jaws of painful regret. All of your choices in your life have been the wrong ones. You have no control, and you can't exactly pinpoint the precise moment the world turned to shit.
This isn't real. This isn't real.
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