Modern Romanticism

Who do you fall for?
You stand up to scream,
to fight treason,
letting your life justify
this dated reason
to damage yourself.

I’ve come forward,
letting my hand land
on a quivering shoulder,
one still drenched
in the tears of another’s
presented burdens.

Who might you let in,
while the world you know
keeps you broken?

Your mind is a whirlwind,
your heart is a shattered,
stained reflection
of someone who prefers
to be buried in a spot
where rain kept falling.

Would you ever love
to know what you lack?

You can always break
better than this.

There’s something
that you can terminate,
that you can clean,
being what blurs
your observant,
vacant stare.