She gave into the choice,
Not by what I offered,
Ever offered
To her cold and collapsed heart.
The choice to seal a noose about her throat,
The choice to strangulate the remaining love
From the stillest ruby.
From the ruby with the least gleam,
The least shine,
The least sheen.
A little blackness hovered over her head,
Like the smallest cloud,
Like nothing and no one has kissed her, in so long.
And, I am over the whitest lips,
The curved moons,
Silver crescents, before droplets of the same color
Leak from my tired eyes.
Love held a cup for me to hold,
And I once drunk from it.
But, the pain I now hold in my heart,
Is enough to turn me
Into something I never wanted to be.
Modern Romanticism 
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