Modern Romanticism

Falling over, over into
your enforced playground,
while I'm corrected on
what I've done wrong.

It is done, as you bring
your scars, all of them
into open light.

All is gone, as you're here
to leave me in ruins,
waiting for me to smile.

You are doing it, again,
covering yourself in nectar,
waiting for the bees,
hoping for the wolves
to give you praise.

I cannot contain
all I've been meaning
to never retain,
holding onto hope
that a response
is not an echo.

For I've been calling
for help, while you are
wallowing in your
best disguise.

I drag myself
to the surface,
only to ever see
one more wave
that keeps me
from being saved.