Another breath,
full of smoke. Full, with remedies,
reigniting certainties,
realizing fatalities, upon that
inborn rush, running with clogged veins,
fleeing with uncontrolled fire,
returning with unresolved desire,
leaving after going through,
without you.
I wake up, surrounded by walls,
hung with unfamiliar portraits.
I stand up, embracing a ghost,
hearing heartbeats bounce from corner
to darkened corner, with fevers erupting
in spaces where prayers went,
came back, unanswered.
Another death,
full, with stinging eyes. Emptied,
with uncured maladies. Reminiscing
over tragic calamities.
Closure was always
a degree, too high, while I
was always too low
to keep a smile held up,
while I went blind to sunrise.
Sunsets were to remind
a blank mind, of pages, folded
for this curse of remembrance,
this rusted token
of unkind sincerity.
Modern Romanticism 