Through the moonlight, I noticed
That you weren't looking at me at all,
But rather, to my shadow
Who stood tall and mighty behind the inclined moon.
I see you,
You see me.
But no, that's wrong.
You fell in love with your imagination of me.
The man I'm not
Is the one that's making you hot.
And I hate how you treat me
like someone I'm not.
I look at you all, your flaws and perfections,
Yet you brush all my sins away,
not knowing they still all stay.
The way things are, you're living a lonely dream,
Where everything is so fine to you, it may seem.
But still, I love you.
I see you how I'm supposed to.
But your love for me?
Yes, it's true,
But I'm sorry, it can never be.
And that is so unlucky.
It seems like I love myself more than you,
But it may seem greedy, I know 'cause it's true.
A bastard like me shouldn't even be in your spotlight.
It's so hard for a person to really see the most inner matryoshka doll of someone they long to be with.
Or maybe it's just me.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Of A Count
PoetryThis book is not suitable for audiences with zero percent sense of imagination and a mental age of two and below. I'm not really a great poet, just a guy who knows how to hold the pen and write the twenty six letters of the alphabet. But I like thin...
