Maybe I got over it because I forced myself to,
I remember the vivid light shining down on her hair creating a painful blue hue.
Along with the candle light surrounding her body sitting on the floor,
Her hand moved across the paper with such grace impersonating a ballerina.

When the candle light flickered upon its wick,
She flickered back.
Her face I may have forgotten,
But I suppose I will not forget her entirely.

The more I remember her the more I remember the vivid lights,
The vivid lights which cried for praise and then turned dull and silent.
The dull lights which were replaced with hues of greens and blues,
Which was melancholic to look at.

Perhaps she was the goddess of light,
No, goddess is much too beautiful and elegant for such and empty mistress.
Maybe one would call her a ghost,
yes, the ghost of light she is.

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A poem by me with a hidden melancholic and sadistic meaning.
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