What is real? The pain, the emotions, the fear that I feel?

Pain comes and goes and hearts always heal

Blood clots when pain stops...its memory unreal
Is love a reality
Or just plain banality
Cos everything u love...u lose
So why pretend I have the power to choose?
Who, what, when or why we love...its just an excuse
To high stake gamble with our hearts...win or lose
Forever or now? Does time really fly
Or are the minutes recycled, treadmilling our lives
Is Big Brother watching this show, is He surprised
By our preoccupation with unreality or that we survive
Or are we playing out a script, our lives to made to fit
The times and seasons we cant control
Situations that come to a life we were forcefully enrolled,,,
In
Spin time and spin reason, who defines the boundaries of
reality, what is and what is what? Whats true and whats
not? Systematic lies fed to our minds...prisoners of our
own mental construct, time is laced with temporary highs
and our lives spent playing connect the dots between the
highs
What is real?
How do I know I'm a man dreaming I'm a butterfly, and
not a butterfly dreaming I'm not a man...is it just based on
how I feel?
If reality is truly based on perception, I begin to wonder
how deep I am in this inception...mind is the joker playing
tricks on me, senses the villains in this grand deception.
Trying to make the connection between the sessions of
moments that define my conceptions, am I permanent
impression or some premature ejaculation of thought of
some temporary erection of some life-dream-invention

Whats the deal?

Senses wired directly to the brain, providing over riding
stimuli
Keeping us prisoners in this dream called life with hope the
tuneless lullaby, hunger the consciousness that drives the
flame for the purpose of keeping us alive, so we go on and
on caught up in the struggle to survive, that we never stop
to pause and ponder and ask ourselves why, we are on the
sense driven, senseless ride...
Iike mice on a wheel,
What is real?
If reality is defined by the limits of my knowledge and thoughts
And if those limits are constantly changing with time slots
If what is unstable and changeable is and at the same time is
not
And if we are in a flux of movement, e-motions, ever changing
themes and plots, and if we cannot control the pace, cannot
rewind, pause, play or stop
But keep being carried on incessantly by time recycled to us
With reprocessed feelings and moments, love, fear, hunger and
loss
It beggars the question again...what the heck is real?
My soul is real, its not for sale...no it cannot be bought
My dreams are real, even though they're not
Music is real
Awesomeness