Analysis of fiction

She sent me letters that whispered in blue
I could see her face as I read them
eyes like a beagle
sad
and always looking up at you
but the most beautiful auburn
that seemed to have little specks of gold
that smiled at you through all her sadness
id sit on that bench
in that sinister looking alley
that was just as broken as she was
potholes like voids that had never been filled
ready to stop anyone dead in their tracks
who tried to walk all over them again
and read those letters
in the light of the moon
that made her silhouette
dance around me like a madness
turning my pain into a sad song
and making art out of my misery
telling me sweet lies
that I wanted to hear so badly
writing my love as fiction
and making a fool of my heart