A shadow doesn't give a very clear picture,
Yours did not give an outline
A muddy puddle could do a better job of reflecting
Who is this person?
With fingers that smell of resin,
And a tongue clogged with a party night
That black figure on the ground painted wings
And a halo to match,
Imagination, perhaps, but I thought it was you
With eyes glazed over, you spoke of love
Messy hair and reckless movements seemed to suit you,
But I still wished that the one I knew was still reality
Through the years we've grown older
And through the years I've grown colder
And I can still not see between shadow and figure.
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I had to look this over quite a few times to remember what I was saying. If anyone, and I mean anyone, besides myself, was able to decipher this, then they must be one hell of a codebreaker.
I'll tell you about it, but only if you want to know.
This poem is about a girl who I used to love very much. We were young kids, really.
She should sneak drinks from her parents alcohol fridge and call me late at night. She would be a little tipsy and a little flirty. It used to be a highlight of my week, when she called like that.
And it was because it was only when she was drunk that she would admit that she loved me.
She was also picking up smoking during this time.
The 'reality' is her sober, when her feelings were hidden.
Her shadow is, well, you know.
It used to tear me up because I wanted so badly for her rational mind to admit it to me how she felt.
Eventually, I fell out of love with her. There was a period of time when after I stopped liking her that I was..stand-off'ish, I'd say. I grew distant and cold, and I think that it really made her upset that I did that.
I'm not sure what I meant to say with the final line.
Maybe you can tell me?