I see you running through a forest,
every tree you pass withers and dies.
I know you’re being chased by something
but gone are the days where I actually cared.
Even though those trees are right before my eyes,
nothing’s quite as dead to me as you.

Even though you seem to be a dream within a dream,
an apparition of a ghost hunting my sanity,
I cannot seem to go a night without dreaming of your heart.
The days are getting colder and the birds all turn to rust,
all we can muster to say is that everything returns to dust,
yet through all this rain and fog and misery something remains true,
nothing’s quite as dead to me as you.

When all the world is quiet
and everyone’s fast asleep,
my heart still sings
a little lullaby for you.
Fuck you.
Fuck you.
Fuck you.
The title and ending stanza work the best here. Also, I didn't even notice the rhyming and slant-rhyming in the second stanza at first. It wasn't until I had to question the birds turning to rust image that it was clear. Better. I'd do something more with the forest - what makes it special? Make the drama stick. Same with the second stanza. Rusty birds? Make the drama stick.
I am a fake mountain.