Modern Romanticism

I toss aside
countless grains,
from the space
you reside.

I’m hoping to forget
what you mean to me,
bleeding under
thin blankets.

Tears are difficult
to swallow,
as they set aflame
my unwashed tongue.

I’m soiled
in what I speak,
repeating a tragic tale
full of silhouettes,
translucent faces.

I’m roiling
in these thoughts,
clouding all judgment,
smothering honesty
among filtered scenery.

If I can't undo you,
I'll hope to hide
among scattered ash -
the burned pages
of an unlearned history.

I was never that one
who could be balanced,
within the center
of a circle of stones.

I wasn't someone
who'd been able to read
a current in an ocean,
a moment in a timeline.