Forced observation.
Helpful, for what
has already
been understood. Have you
ever lifted a heart,
too wounded, to move?
Move on,
with those guesses,
left behind. Within rubble,
that was, always where
you crossed invisible lines,
finding me, inside
blankets of shadows.
I am bleeding
for another statement,
empty to this misery.
I am never finding
the cause. This current,
broken element,
emulating me.
With no
messages, to be sent across,
you are dividing yourself
from thinning walls.
Entrenched in brokenness,
wide-eyed, indirect
to what senses weakness,
like wolves that highlight
their fangs, beneath
lowered moonlight.
I run, with everywhere
to hide, to fall, under another
of those infinite grains.
Modern Romanticism 