Modern Romanticism

Drinking from this
deep, and ever-deepening
glowing shape of one
force of red,
shelter of dread.

I am replaced,
as a reflection,
one that swims
in venomous swirls.
I cannot, but I will
know why I've lied
to tomorrow's
racing heartbeat.

A bottle holds
a silent message,
one going black
with the lives
I never see.

Silhouettes pass,
under stars
that are ending up
in their vapor.

All eyes will see
a man who cannot stand,
not even as he
cannot stand this life
he has yet to evict.

But he will,
when he has nothing
left to drink from,
where oceans
have become deserts,
when his heart
have no more rivers,
no more veins
to send echoes.