Another gay ass poem about the irl person I like

I feel so hypocritical
I feel so unreliable
When I say that I love you
More than they do
Because the feelings are just what has passed on
From all the lineage that is dead and gone
I claim to be capable of knowing you better
And yet your behavior does not follow my written letter
Are you a concept? Are you a dream?
Am I just a liar? Are my messages obscene?
Our pasts were born in the trenches of hell
But I know you were found in a deeper, darker well
My water was poisoned from the very start
As I scrawl my blood on the walls to make art
I crawl up the rope from the hanging bucket
And I see the light where I can escape it
But your well was run with blackened soot and oil
Where every last drop clung to your skin, your foil
The rope was cut from the surface and sky
With your freedom drowning before your eyes
You are still trying to escape your sunken well
And if your plan is working or not, I cannot tell
I am not in the sun, not yet free
And yet so much less bound than thee
You can play your games and amuse your self
But I am the one who will accept your selves
Moral grayness is not nearly as idolized in reality
And yet my opinion remains the same across fantasy
I want you, not just for your pretty face or dark eyes
But every piece that society would despite
Your compulsive lying to hide the truth
The pain that tore you from your youth
Your instability, your breakdowns, your dissociation and wrath
Is all a part of my mirrored path
Is it really so awful of me to look at you and understand
The blood pouring from your scarred, red hand?