literary analysis

i tried to be poetry, ethereal, unreal

apparently my metaphors can't show you how i feel

my illusions fell flat, my imagery a bore

i'm neither the lock nor the key to your door 

you're not a leaf, a tide or sun in my eyes

i'm literal now, not some moral that dies

or the bones or the scars or the dust on the shelf

you're you. and i'm me. now go fuck yourself.