Modern Romanticism

It’s a viable reason
to disappear without trace,
for you won’t want to
be following me
to where I will escape.

There are sounds -
those I won’t hear -
after all becomes tunnels,
when before,
there were avenues,
filled with heated
exchanges of emptiness.

I won’t hurt
for much longer.

I won’t need to heal,
once I’m beneath.

It’s a storm
I’ve been chasing,
with hands carving out
this path, from my
own whirlwinds.

This heart has killed me.
This mind has cured me
with thoughts I won’t
want to rewind.

I’ll be breathing
the water I emptied
from eyes that never
once blinked.