Modern Romanticism

I call on all signs
to rain vigor,
as I cling onto all threads
dragging folds behind.
Some torn shred
of discolored clothing
reminded me of a wound,
of what I disguise.

Some plain page
of unwritten history
has made me forget more
of what comes next.

Some repeated words
are left to be unheard,
as I will continue to mask
the sun with the moon.

I will recoil from the light,
losing myself in the sight
of what I cannot believe
went from black to white.