I’m not even a little ashamed to admit that at my 21st birthday party, I came into my room and drunkenly wrote poetry. Most of it is illegible, but I think this one has potential:
The seasons change, but we haven’t.
The snow melts as if the devil himself had something to prove;
He grabs on to your shoes,
Warming the earth with each calculated footstep.
I walk behind,
Keeping distance enough to perpetuate a shield of armor.
The Medieval chain mail is fashioned from my wings;
For they have out grown me, but you haven’t.
I want to despise you,
See your bones splinter from my words.
But I refuse:
Sadism saved your life; Masochism saved mine.