Modern Romanticism

Your life struck
its final match,
linked up with its
weathered facade,
too close,
but necessary
to see the real
discomfort.

What’s been controlling
your heartbeats,
backtrack your steps
to where the flood
had begun.

Open up,
to finally
bring forth light
to find where you
let yourself go
to the night.

For your form,
repair it
after you’re able
to recognize storms,
to realize torrents
that you created.

You’ve diseased your mind,
torn apart your heart
to bring flavor for your kind,
to be tasted, in the layers
where you’re blanketed
back to a smothering,
betraying white.