Modern Romanticism

What is that strange aura?

That glint in the irises?

What is that Hellish haze

Is it the image of something drunken on the texture

Of pillows?

Shattered, I am, and yet

I see softness in your frozen stare.

What is that look

In your eyes that have given up?

I look down to see

My beloved in deadened form.

I look down to see

My heart, shivering in the cold.

I see the death of you.

Though, your eyes still see me

And offer empathy.