Modern Romanticism

Is it a toxin,

Or will it clean me,

Perhaps erase me

Of memories to a former one?

The love that I drink

Was once a place to stay

In arms, to be held for an eternity.

My eyes have shut themselves to the light,

Because I am on a road with no end.

Love leaves a trail

In the snow,

In the low

Of my pouring gaze

On tracks that I leave,

Behind my idle awakened self.

Potent love is a source,

A great pain

Stinging worse than the wound.

Blood smears my arms,

Clogs my heart with clots,

Makes me face another dream

Where I won’t be awake

In the current mistake

To offer what cannot be offered

To another one, for her sake.