Modern Romanticism

What rained scarlet
With the dying moon?
Her razor tongue
Dries the porcelain away from the newest life,
That falls into oldest death.
I am one trip away
From leaving this place
Forever, away from the decay
That leaves a taste upon my own tongue,
While her bitterness is still
Upon my lips.

Love unmentioned me
From the list of men
Who had wanted endearment
Upon the stars, upon the light,
Leaving me empty in the darkness.

Life is two steps ahead,
As I am on that path,
With the scars that deepen themselves into my flesh,
Like with the love for death
That embeds itself into the impression
On the right or left side of my bed,
As her tear stains, still remain, on both pillow and quilt.

I am forced
To move, or run
While the world takes on
Any shape it may form.
On my own, I bow to my knees, in regret.

Love is the stillness,
Life is the movement,
Death is another stillness
That had captivated her,
As life pushes me.