Modern Romanticism

Never took a chance
to offer up
all I’ve given into,
to loosen teardrops
begging to be free.

I’ve landed only stones
on hard floors,
choosing to keep tight
this throat, the words
I want someone,
besides myself
to hear.

Hear me when I hear
what my heartbeats fear,
paralyzing me
in a constant intake
of suffocating doubt.

I dream what I’ve seen,
of ghosts in hallways,
when a star goes dark,
as a face goes into hiding.

I only want to know
the missing ingredient,
to unbind a storm
I’ve carried in the snow.

Rain before shelter,
death before life,
to rewew myself
under the collapse.