we all have shadows, for you see a shadow cannot exist on its own, it cannot live without a source to feed. so it attaches to those bright and full of love and it steals through toxic tongue and tainted touch every inch of light and every ounce of love it can, and it eats and it eats and it eats.
and it never ends.
the cycle goes on for years, for days, for weeks. sometimes one attachment is not enough to satisfy its hunger, and the shadow finds another, sneaking behind backs and through unlit back streets, slipping beneath bodies under messy white sheets.
until it finds what it needs.
it eats to feed an unsatisfiable hunger that’s seeded deep in its very soul. you see, a shadow is utterly empty. a shell of those around them cast upon pre-fixed forms, void of kindness and empathy, full of lies and false sympathy. only fictitious constructions of conned complex personality.
you may be convinced at first, you see, shadows are very well-versed with words, their honey-dipped hells and counterfeit kindness are nearly believable and you might even feel warmth for awhile. but shadows love to play tricks, manipulate your mind and play mischief on your eyes. dancing in the dark of the night in the darkest of hours, when the false is most easily believed, it’s not until daylight often we see the falsity revealed that we’ve been forced to perceive. turning pain into poetic verse, a shadow will twist and contort even the sweetest of words into a sweet mirage of manipulation to force you to see the lie they’ve created in the image of innocence.
they’ll feed off your good of heart and affection so sweet, and drink from the pools of light that you seep. and they’ll eat and they’ll eat and they’ll eat, until there’s nothing left and you’re completely empty. they’ll drain your soul and drop your heart and move on to the next, but keep your name for later use. because when love grows back and you feel full once more, a shadow will return again to reclaim its host and restart this game it’s since provoked. but then a shadow will slither and slip away, retreating to cobweb corners and feigning false pain, always finding someone else― you ―to blame.
but a shadow will never admit to its own darkness, for it’s convinced it’s awash in light, the epitome of kindness and love, that it could never be anything but the victim.
but it’s afraid.
because it knows if it takes one real look at who they are and what they’ve done, their self-conceived, perfect being will wither away and melt to no one.
― calling you a ghost would be wrong, for you see, even ghosts eventually go away.
this is one of the longest prose poetry pieces i've ever written, and it is probably one of my favorites