#depression
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“Hope is always the conquest of light over those who never held it. It begins small, soon transfiguring to a giant illumination. For hope is never begun as a plural, as it is begun in a singular. Hope is the one match to begin a forest fire.” – Modern Romanticism
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This entire blog is dedicated towards my only true love I’ve ever had. 1,000+ poems are written in her name. She was the only thing that ever counted towards me being “complete”. When the love left my heart, I grew mad. Mad… as in, I grew insane. This was no ordinary break-up. It was like
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Come for me,If you dare,And step with your formless feetAcross depths, made of flesh,Perfect for your footfalls. Come and tear at me,With your eyes upon my hands,That rent apart this ocean made of rottenness,With anger in my eyes,You’ll fall inward. And I’ll fail,And fall before you,Little angel of my demise,I will submit,To beauty that keeps
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Rise up,And take awayThis unholy painFrom the woman I once loved,She needn’t suffer this muchIn this winter of winters. Her face, once an aura of bliss,Her form, once taken by me, beneath sheets of white.And blankets made of the softest velvet,Quilts made of skin. A mattress made of us,And sweat pours over like the rain,
Modern Romanticism 