Modern Romanticism

You found interest
from what isolated me
to become dust,
to paint rust
onto a motionless,
frozen promise.

You've heard me
whisper through your
paranoid ears,
the sounds from within
the emptiness of a shell.

I've been crowding
this world of mine
with nothing but
the presence of wine,
the color of your
bloodstained lips.

I've been covered
in your presence,
as secretive as hallways
never receiving light,
as dark as their rooms
concealing your spite.

You opened up
always to consume me,
to find an error
in all I had viewed
in terminal terror.

You let me loose
from ropes I used
to keep me close
to your ruins.

You let me see
all this damage
done to me,
before I'd weep.