Depression
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If in the presentation, I choose tohug the bark of strange trees,I’ll hope with rushes plungingfrom softened eyes that those rootslike hands, can form their gestureof prayer to a man with his years in ruin,with his gaze always looking awayfrom a rotting sun in a fatal distance. Whoever thought that sadness could melt?Whoever thought that
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Broken sounds.Rediscovered signals.This path is guidedwithin each of your breaths. I draw lines,getting erasedat the last of your heartbeats,leaving me with a rhythmI cannot ignorewhen it is youI abhor. I was closeto a corpse who breathed,someone who hoarded fleshupon everyone’s death,everyone who sheever wept foras they bled upona naked floor. Those rhythms, sounds,broken like ground
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After we felt enoughto clog our eyes, to coverour skies withour shielding palms – we pull over these sheets.Closing a chapter,believing in nothing more,like birds of clipped wings. Like children without bread,to soon become anotherfor numerous dead.Like those helpless without answers,praying to a vast canvas,to watch God paint colorsdrenched like gleaming sicknessat their nailed feet.
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All those thornsdig deep, like shardsof reflectionsin an eternal hourglass.Someone’s lovewas once trappedin these blissful stainserupting from a church’s waters,in windows that were replicasof former erosions,of smoothness to palmspierced with nails for portraits,pierced with teeththat leave marks. Pureness in sickness,while life weeps in its defeat,fallen into armsthat keep a child silent.This love, leaking out froma
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“A smile is a stone, made for fire. Beneath that hardened mask is a puddle, where our sorrows were held down to be drowned. We held down our tragedies beneath a weight, a stone, our false smiles, though we could not help it when the fires grew to reach others and burn them away. We
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Funnel thoseteardrops, into this open,discarded mouth.I still misstastes of a sunrise,blooming without disguise,as we caressedstones on a rough road,stressing for finalityto release a breathwe held, and could notever use to turnour eyes, behind. Funnel history’s glancesdown insanity’s laughing throat.Pour down all your bitterness,as I remember it,as I only remember it. I realizethat you are pasta
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To color, dynamic. To skin,aromatic, in what comforts us,conceals us in reflection,divides us, in selectionfor whom will remain hereclosed behind doors, open withinflooded corridors. We arebandaged, in each other’s arms,seeing pain, never tamedin mirroring eyelids. Passion bites. Nerves exciteall our muscles to move usonce more, on a final twistto a connecting kiss. All our veins,
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Recognizable cost.Territorial loss.I am even with your thoughts,holding your trembling hands. Fabling on dimmest realities,screaming in closetsfor closure’s clarity. Losing our trail,on a crippled horse.Moving backwards,while weatherkeeps getting worse.I leave bottles opento count dropletsin unified rush. One barren journeyto see where we dividedour asymmetrical petals.Washing our eyes with soil,flooding a spacebeneath our feetwith dried tearstains.
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I laid you, bare.I sealed you. To see you,dressed without dare,adorned without honorto these eyes that stare. All those roomsto empty you,with these paintingsto represent you.You fade in a bedtimeof shadows,taped to the ground. Black dresspinned to a wall.White corridorswith blurred photographscapturing your wails.I trapped youto refer you, to inter you,to wait until you hear
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Walk your hurdles overto surrender yourself tothe chase. Every inchthat leaves you more amused,you’ll find what awaits youin a place that does notdefine your space. You haveonly succeeded inreusing old playgrounds. Step on flowersif it makes you excited,if it drives your thrillpast the moonwe both aimed for. Scorn the sunthat ignites your flesh,reveals your wounds,blames
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Here’s to what bledand burned, fated from rustinto a stream of sleepless dustfor washed out eyes,from extinguished sighs.I’ll hide behind these shadows,pretending you’re here,seeing snow as onlyanother chapter to grow. I find that our worldwas built to count meteorsfalling like teardrops,finding their placelike water for a rose.I sensed an apocalypse,before you shelteredin dreaming darkness.I sensed
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For you, I will remainholding your handin growth, in sickness,beside a bed decoratedin blanketing shadows.You surround, as contoursto reflective puddlesbrought down for my feetto dance upon,to catch a newest drizzlefrom sobbing eyes. I hold your rain in my heart,your hand, even whenwe are realms apart. I embed your stains like black puddleswithin rivers, where grief
Modern Romanticism 