Between Reality and Hell

I did not know I am not real  
Tricked my mind into believing  
A life had something to do with having a heart  
Beating somewhere between Heaven and Hell  
That felt an imaginary emotion someone dubbed love  
To write greeting cards that said what love is  
Without having a clue how it felt to fall into its pit  
But what does it matter?  
It’s just pretend and I am not real  
A whisper from the fantasies of trees where birds nest  
And bees live to pollinate the fruit that grows on their branches  
Being at the whim of the fantasies of creatures that fly  
While I am left standing on the ground that seems as real as me  
I wonder if I will fade away into the space I do not really occupy  
When flames come to burn the tree into ashes and kill the winged life-bringers  
When they are gone who will there be to keep imagining me?  
Who will there be to mourn my passing into the nothingness from which I sprang?  
How could I know I was not real when I touched the leaves that left each fall?  
Each fall when I thought that what I felt was love but was nothing more  
Than the birds and bees in their battle to control the tree  
To control the other who each depended on and saw as an enemy  
Instead of looking on each other as lovers with a real destiny  
But the fruit was there to tempt them and tell them lies  
And I was born from the indigestion of birds who ate bees  
And bees who helped the fruit multiply for humans to be tempted by  
So I, the first human, was tempted and became unreal when the fire came  
And the birds saw, and the bees saw and they were sad  
And they knew that it was not good  
So the birds sang and the bees buzzed and I became ashes  
And to ashes I have fallen time and time again  
From the fantasies of birds and bees who pretend to be lovers