Modern Romanticism

I recognize that this
is what you've dismissed,
but I've been gathering
these rocks, together,
for an eternal fire.

I've been reconnecting
an endless sprawl of wires,
hoping you'll receive
this connection,
becoming just as blind
as this unreasonable,
blatant devotion.

Hanging a heart from
its roads, its strings,
among all the other things
left out to dry
in the sun.

Tears cannot be what
means I've kept this going.
I will weep, if it means
a room for remorse
cannot be vacant.

But I will not cry
if it means that I have
allowed a love to die.

Pain comes through
as a growing stain,
among these immaculate
puddles, where a reflection
ought to always reveal
all I've concealed.

I beg to be released,
to be understood for a wrong
I've been challenging.

I beg to be noticed
even as a ghost in your
bedroom of shadows.