Modern Romanticism

Shallow resonance
has kept this beat going
beyond certain seconds
when hands are clasped,
when minds are wired
to remain closed.

We’ve been desperate
to believe that everything
will keep running.
We’ve just been running
for the flame,
clinging to a thread.

We hang for the world
to see, to regard
with contempt, with disdain.
We’ll come to ride
on their perception
of what we hide.

Love was a simpler game,
until we broke its rules,
cheating to win
futile moments.

Life has long expected us
to peer inside a reflection
that terrifies us after
our disguise is pulled away.

What hurts is what’s true,
within this long corridor
where we bleed.

All that we knew
was to clog our veins,
contain our breaths.