Modern Romanticism

Simplest soothing
at your vestige,
your cold disappearance
from one warm night,
as I can still see
where you danced,
leading lights
before you burned out
beyond an open door.

Love is no loyalty
in place of the skin
you survive on.

Lust is your remedy
when tasting seconds
you’ll swallow.

You’ve been giving
what you can’t contain
on your own,
depriving yourself
of the softness
you leave in the memory
of the wicked.

There’s your flesh
that you disfavor,
while there’s death
you’re running from.

Somewhere, a world
has reached its end,
having faced its grave -
a nest for the soulless.

Within you, the sounds
of those most tragic
are curtained in pages
you neglected to read.

I am one more who will
end up forgetting
all that transpired.

I am here to recall
mere seconds in time,
from a fallen hourglass.