Modern Romanticism

I have carved, into you,
into your silence
a certain cut,
one that bleeds without mention
of what you’d do with it,

but I know
your last intention
had been to crave sensation,
had been to return yourself
to bitterness, to resignation.

I have heard you,
crying for another frail moment
to sting you, in its embrace.
I had oceans to give you,
empires to crown you for,

but you’ll go on deceiving
others, for a finality.

You will search, forever,
for that moment in which
you will sever, your touch,
from all of those
who granted you much.

One moment, upon another
when you will sentence yourself
to be dismembered,
embraced in your reflection,
destined for death
without resurrection.