Modern Romanticism

How far can your cries range for

In the sound of your hollow voice?

Calling from the hollow heart

That voices a hail of sting

Against broken wings,

Raising all but yourself

Towards the rays of sunlight.

I see what should be fathomed of yourself

In the pinnacle of your viewing.

You are as beautiful

As two spots of dirt

Upon the smoothest blouse,

As just the simplest of no adoration

Upon the shortest while,

Clung as the thinnest smile.

Your body shrinks

Like your mind that never thinks.

I am still not enough for your pleasure,

Just the shame that cannot piece together

The loosest debris

That creates the forgotten fields,

As my hands wield

Two droplets from your eyes, for the cutting knife.