Modern Romanticism

What can one take apart of the dead?
My spirit coiled about her naked self
Is left to be trimmed by fate,
Disposed upon the railroad, listless and waving a mere finger
To the horrors on the bloody ceiling,
The reddened skies.

Falsify me
To the awaited, opened wrists.
Remind me
Of something I once kissed.
Not of blood, though of sound,
The ecstatic jeers, simple in their owning
Of me, in my once-brightened life,
As I'm now curled in frozen drunkenness.

Her eyes watched the memory,
My love dropped a curtain
Upon its already-dismembered remains.

She seduced me into her arms,
Bit me as I began to rot.
She drunk my fumes, for I was wilting.

I groaned a sound
Too many to be found
For their evasive origin.
I gave weight
To a state
To find myself to sink.

Your eyes, your well,
My thoughts, this Hell.
Say you'll know me
On a path, on a journey.