Lose those patterns.
Let us draw
unluckiest cards.
We’ll lose control
over all outcomes,
watching us become
a plain color,
two faces never remembered,
while we are covered
in welcomed shadows.
Your eyes see another
you have saved
for a different day.
Another heart to plant a seed,
another pair of eyes
to see you bleed,
if for water to that garden
you will forever weed.
Our lives that stop
rewinding their clock.
Our ears that go deaf to
marching footsteps
coming to a crawl.
Have you answered it?
Are you seeing it?
We believed in a faith,
entertained those shapeless
teardrops being scattered
on limitless headstones,
though we weren’t countless,
among numbered days.
We kissed until our lips were dry,
have sighed until winds put out
our fires, instead of spreading them.
We drop no more beginnings,
no more unwritten chapters
from burning branches.
We filter no more
meaningless words,
through intricate cracks
in a false smile.
Modern Romanticism 