Eyes wired shut. Mouth open,
with burning circuits to
shorten our ties, speaking with
deafening voices, screaming
our promises into
darkened hands. We are leaking
those sources, to those fires
where our dreams were
always flaking.
Our forms, shaking
from fear’s relentless
presence. We relive that sentence,
that time spent in a prison.
Locked, in hearts, that
bar us within ribbons,
celebrating a theme of madness.
Are we abandoned?
Another ignored vessel
among a storm,
where lightning shines, like those
lighthouses to lead us,
to deceive us.
You filter that storm
with your outspoken tongue.
You have broken free,
while I remain lost at sea,
waving a white flag
where I drew
a radiant bleed.
Our forms, once shaking,
once taking to that fervent,
deserving taste of insanity.
To spice, that breaks through
thickening ice. To walls
that tumble at a whisper,
when we were fragile within
our delicate reach.
Modern Romanticism 