Modern Romanticism

What have I done?

With the blood that soaks between my fingers

Like nectar,

Like morning dew,

Like tears,

Like marrow.

What have I become

In the still shaded eclipse, to her form

I once guarded?

With all my might,

I once guarded.

With nothing to see, in a future, for plight,

I once guarded.

Love was all I wielded,

As a flaming sword.

Now I wield teeth,

And rottenness.