How much are you unable to
Cross your mind, in the admittance of?
Brokenness, to each wing
Where even the skies have departed
From your wasted self.
Each eye,
Each tormented whine,
As all of your vision
Fades into time.
Of sadness
Where skin becomes frozen
In the heat of this inferno,
While eyes begin to shed dust
As flapping butterfly wings.
Walking into an echo
To bleed onwards, for the way back
Is to return,
Along with the remorse
To follow through on the course.
As shadows enter light,
It can be heard of the sounds
That escape your cherry-tinted lips
That you are far from concession,
While the world grows dark
In your great submission.
Bowing to empty tree trunks,
As you are only able.
Modern Romanticism 