Modern Romanticism

Curse me
With your truth.
I will raise the sun upon my shoulders
And catch your flying kisses
In my webbed and lying hands.

Can you fathom
The monster I have become?
Full of twisted rage
And possesses no control
Over the pain that grips.

There was love to breathe,
There is now deceit to seethe
Within,
As I conjure up my woeful defeats,
Of memories that do not leave.

I seemed to have erased what I know
Of one woman of insight.
Dear replacement,
There is none.
There is nothing but the emptiness.

Can you curse me, once more
With your words of truth?
I wish for no more lies in this plight,
Woman of insight.
I wish for nothing else to send me fright.