Anxiety
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To him, all that has manifested in this aftermath might be said to be all he expected. All that destruction of a form, all because he took a different direction. Had he lied to himself at that second? All he wanted was relief. A different place to put his sanity. To whatever was left of
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She tells my pain to wait. As if water can fall after I’ve twisted a knob to a faucet. This heart, twisted, knotted in its infinite veins, spread like tree roots to an age of a tree that has already fallen. These eyes have gained flashes. All those empty rooms, filled with one more hollow
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Wide letters.We were holding on,while recognizing.Those shapes. These marks.They have stuck like glueto these gray hauntsin the washing blue. Worded. Remembered.Burning ships that tag along.Fated noosesthat hold up bottled necks. Stored messages for the sea.Stored letters that go unseen. Who shall hear our screams?Who shall worship our stars,put out near firelightwhere we ignite another rose?
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“It’s as though those mental health symptoms were never there, and you were on a drug that tapped into the placebo effect. You were experiencing a hard time. You were desperate. You reached out, and what you brought back was relief in a bottle with a special child’s lock on it. The cap. When you
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Off track,behind the timesof everyone else’s smiles. Fill me with blue,remind me of the sea.Elevate me with the moonwhile the sun goes to sleep.I can run around,toss aroundwhile the earth jogs its mile. Into November,where eyes can rememberthe speech that told a patternin the leaves.The fallen, scattered.As those swept withinwere against the grain,were sun-blocked,were in
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Tame the positionOf one beast who bottledHis sunshine in the hourglass,While time kept us frozenTo observe the past. You were to the worldAll it aimed to ignore,All death desiredTo give birth to,Upon the murky shore. You liveTo keep singingYour pain, for the wildernessWhere isolation grows heaviestUpon leaves made of your disease. Why choose to forget?Why
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Open heartTo the petty gustsBrought forthFrom the heartbroken surge,To the relief that dividesThe heart from grief. There is water in your veins,Bleeding out for the painWe both were singing for,Beneath the immaculate bedsheets.With faces heavy in the weariness,While eyes shower graceUpon hands made of metal. I choose to hold youOut of all other options,For one
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Among the waves,Tears collect, to recedeFrom the glass,From the mirror’s boundaryFrosted by breath,Frozen throughIn the silence of death. Among allCountless beats of a heart,Veins will shatterAlong withEach moment to matter. While eyes hideBehind the tear-stained hands,While one wilted formCannot standUpon a barren shore. Unable to see,Unable to breatheA second more,While the afterlifeCloses upon me. Naked
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“Do not keep your hold upon the droplets. For they are meant to water the roots. Do not let anger, through the fear that burns what is dead within yourself, consume the wilderness meant to thrive. As pain may be the thorns, everything beautiful is the rose. You might find the stem unwieldable, as a
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“No man will cry over sentimentality. He will, however, weep when the boulder during the present, buries him further into the earth. The guilt, harbored upon his shoulders, docked as a ship within his heart, overloaded with the cargo of self-disappointment, offers him the curse of blame for what he could not protect. Competence is,
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“What comes first? Love or trust? It must be love, because we cannot trust everyone.” – Modern Romanticism Does one know why the person commits suicide? It is objectively an act of self-punishment. Since it is that both love and death are gifts, due to that life cannot see when either will arrive, the person
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Track your swum milesBack to the reliving love,Watered by the stormsWe drew our arms through,Together,Keeping smiles on the pagesWe turn,Together, in a hold. We hold historyEver on page one,Finding love in unending tearsBacktracked on the first mileWe ever sought to cross. Oh, love,Keep smilingWith waters to your naked heartLeaning in reverse,Falling upward. BeautyCloses curtains,Nestled thus
Modern Romanticism 