Love
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Will you ever beanything other than anotherroaming, scentless petal,floating always withinthose ripples,of your current time?In finding shells upon a shore,you’ve become hollow.In seeking Hell,with nothing of yours to adore,you’ve stayed to wallow. Will that mask,hiding your tearsfor your colorful portrait,ever come loose?You’ve driven daggersfor open wounds,for open doors, but you arenever coming undone,while you have…
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I pull lettersfrom open chests,carve white into greywhere memories fade,are washing awayinto discoloration. I’ve taken those lettersforming sentences,at a sentencing to a lovethat wouldn’t stop breathing. I felt that rushof cold air, from barren lungs,when pain floatedup from an ocean’s bottomto meet me, to chastise me,for what I couldn’t believe. I had to let goof…
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Torn through, dense fibers,of your ceaseless repression.Are you growing, with this vanityin knowing that you are yearningfor something that is stirring? I have lifted your veil,drifted down your throatto your heart, decorated in embers,from piles of rotten kindling. I have remembered your tale,as one more raindropfor an endless ocean.There had never been a seed,nor anything…
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Fatal silhouette,who would you bewhen you are reminding meof what cannot be?I am losing the ideal,helping myself, letting myselflet go of your hand,letting you fallto those unknown depths. You remain, in mind,choosing to be behindunder earth, buried to bethe kin of your kind. You remain as a stainon this damaged heart,strangled by its own veins,written…
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I know I’ve been cruelthrough saving nothing morethan a shard from a broken mirror.I bled you to keep you warm,while I judged your fearsto not be your comfort, because I thought that holding youwould mean to sink intoyour thoughts, where you are gathered. I thought to understandsomeone, who was hungby one delicate strand.One thin wireof…
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In this abyssof a watering moment,I am pullingat what keeps guessingwhen it keeps pushing meto keep her open.I am pulling closer,though she remains far,enough to disbelievewhere her roots extend. I want her to roamnot from east to west,though to a subtle northto begin sensinga hidden, time-worn sensationdeserted to a disheartened chestthat loves, without thinking. In…
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Lost upontrails of ice,coated in your pale,burdening apathy.I couldn’t tell,in having eyes fused shut,who wrote your pages. They were oncewhiter than snow.They have remainedmore stilled than death.In closing that book,I have begun to float,I have begin to look pastthose tattered sailsthat guided our ship. Although, your face,your presence still burnsthin threads, into an imageI cannot…
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I am still sinking in,with thoughts that overturnothers, on this blinding pathwaywhere sunlight keeps me going –but where am I going? Back again, to those aimless ways,over to that field where growthhad been an intrusion of thorns.Color was always a thin mist,while hauntings were those clouds,gathered for memorial.Rain would bring nothing up,besides repetition, of an…
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In these hands,adorned in bruises,I have found somethingI find impossible to discard,to treat in its entire formlike worthless to scorn. In these arms,serrated with cuts,bleeding down to the bone,I am wielding something –someone, whom I cannot let gowhile this mindsurrounds itself, in shadows. In these eyes,sundered from nightswithout rest,under constant test,I am viewing who has…
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Wandering closerto those lips, a havenof leveled focus, of interactionwith the dust that collectsin hands that have washedmemories, from clouds. She has staggeredthrough a wilderness of song.She has reunitedright with wrong – the same senseof misunderstandingI am remembering during dayswe were pretending to love,in those disserving plays. She has stung her futurein sympathies, breaking her…
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I wished to see the daylightbefore it expired, beyond our rush,to be behind our need to toucha sign of pleasant hope,in this dimness,of worsening vision. It is this, while I wish to keep returningto wounds, that leak from wherewe were discovered, there,at a place where funerals are bare. I am living in our aftermath,but we…
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I don’t believesome spare bough, can stretchfor your scars, because I havebeen that one to keep returninga fallen leaf, for your hair. Even in tears, I land backto burn into you,because I aim to accompanyyour present image,in each droplet of rainto set the stains. To set the stagemeans to welcome both. Dualities, of hopeless futurewith…
Modern Romanticism 