What Makes Fiction Better Than Life?

I've made mistakes, but I wrote them in pen,
So this time I can't go crossing them out again.
I had a character for every piece,
I guess I just let loose on their lease.
A typewriter isn't the same,
Nor are the background people without a name.
The house changed every time,
And the stairs became harder to climb.
I would add myself in, then take myself out,
I guess I'm sick of taking the same old route.
All those fake tears that I drew,
None of them I wish you knew.
The happy ending was always erased,
Every time, something different replaced.
All those people that I "loved,"
Were just the characters into the story I shoved.
My words were the blood, my pen was the knife,
So what makes fiction better than life?