The burden of belief

Tell me the truth or let me make my own,
one life where she dies and one where he does
depending on the color of your bracelet.
We talk about it in two places, the blue world
and the red world, red and blue do not make
a beautiful lavender, rather a morose blackness
that I can live in without too much encouragement.
I'd rather neither were true and that things
were like they used to be where we all joined
hands, even Oz, the dog down the street.
Tell me, love, the truth of it all
to relieve my shoulders of the burden of
believing the absurd, the impossible, the
relics bouncing inside an old musty chest.