You used to be my favorite love metaphor.
The way your tears were never rain,
                                          just another note
     in the song you called your life.
The way your eyes were never emeralds or diamonds,
                                just another word you couldn't write
                           without it finding your soul.
The way your hands were not carved from gold,
                 just boulders that you kept trying to place
                            on my waist
                                    in hopes they wouldn't hurt me.
The way you smiled was never really fake,
                         just something you knew you
                  had to keep so that everyone else could
    smile with you one day.
The way your hair was not really messy,
                      just another thing to deal with
               in the morning before you came to see me.
The way you were never my heroine,
                       just the small thing
                that still crosses my mind every day
      maybe every hour.
The way you told me that I was someone beautiful,
                when in reality I'm just a professional
                      mirror holder upper.
You used to be my perfect love metaphor.
                                      You were the only one I could conjure up.
                  Nowadays
                        
    You seem like my perfect metaphor to match my level of destruction.