I have wept two single tears,
To where our paths shall divide.
One path leads
To a place of flame, of summer with sweetest kiss.
The other leads,
To a place of coldness, of winter with misery’s tempest.
Our faces look upon where I have shown
Our world to end itself,
By cuts upon its own wrist,
For I know,
And truly accept,
That these paths lead away out of blood.
For suicide and depravity
Is where our love only ever thrived.
Why would you question me,
Me, and my emotions upon this time?
I am a man with no shame to reject,
And nothing to spare,
Nothing to neglect.
A failure to all, in my body’s fall.
As Heaven ceases to be!
As Hell is our truest realism!
I am the subtle becoming.
Two tears out of this garden, not of Eden,
Though, of my mind,
My garden of thoughts,
The despair that I bought,
Among the choices I taught,
Are where I die,
In the world I leave behind.
Modern Romanticism 