Poetry
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Silver dropletsfall from somewherestill too shallow to bemy burial.I’m coming downwith the crushing storm,no longer willingto bottle what’s whole,what’s saturatedin maturation.I’ve broken chainsto be let loose,unaccompanied,into the wild.I’ve fled from safetyto be in the presenceof what’s covered in dust,painted in rust.I’ll be somewherelower than here,in a spot where no screamcan be heard,can be receivedwith a
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Swimming upto breathe within contents of a cloud,to swallow wholethe thudding raindrops.I’m revising a page,inspired from a noise,a message scrawledin the ivory.I was once an observerwith a blank stare,with white eyesholding no life.I’m revisiting a streamI had abandonedto lose itselfto an ocean.I’m holding out handsto take in the storyI had ended too early.Darkness followedfor some
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Upon one time,those missing heartbeatswere offered a fair doseof lasting gratitude.Upon another time,I began to understandwhat little there isin such silence.The life I’ve refused,the breaths I’ve stifledhave given me a third eyeto see what I letdie without grace.It’s in the snow,lost, confused withoutanything in tow.It’s dreamingfrom being beneathan eclipsed sun.I must bring backthe words that
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Lowered eyesare two soft piecesof a witness.This punishmentis one where isolationis the sole saviorof one who lacksall creation.I burn where Idon’t bleed;I bleed when Idon’t tend tothe things that Iam holding onto.It’s a razor,it’s a mirrorbroken into shards,one with manydifferent reflections.All masksto the truth that Ihave buried.All demonscovering for absent,dead angels.Still, I hear thosewho entreat
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Words stabilized,since our departure,enough for meto settle symmetryinto one otherpainless stone.Face awayfrom the other wayI have gone.Let me record thisin a twisted mind.Your storyis a different perspective,a darkened illusionI cannot look into.You are a ghostfrom another timeI left behind.Backwards stepsare those I takeon this path,on this escapefrom an eraof its sickness.One fateful retreatwas needed for
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Loss’s passagewelcomes rehearsal,lets me put forthone final offeringof dismissable words,as one last prayerin the dark.When will I be heard,under these low tones?I’m crying all alone,while no one knows.This mirror is mysole bit of sympathy.The mirror is mytreasured company.A mirror is myescape from apathy.I’ve reached for hope,only for it to beextinguished from tearsfalling from open wounds.Hear
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Sundering windslift up the flaps,the loose parts of me,those small areasI can no longer see.All I’m viewingis this descent,this long slope,one way down.All I’m hearingare echoes,those from other’scrying voicestelling me,pleading to meto turn back.I want what I want,while I knowit’s not what I need.I’ve built the bridgeI’ve set on fire,never crossing it.I was half-wayto finding
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A stalematebetween two mates,two souls,who held togethertheir bloody wounds,their screaming smiles.They chokedon the wispy smoke,bringing in airfull of profanityinto tattered lungsfor their calamity.Bathed in flames,burning in their heartsthat beat, that heatsthe many roomsthey’ve been engulfed,they’ve clashed.They are poundingtheir emptied chests,having set a burden downto replace that spacewith their silence,as one thing learnedfrom their violence.It hangs
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You were educatedby disbelief,entertained by onlywhat you wantto believe.It runs through you,the denialof what’s true.Love is a petalamong dozensyou can burn.It’s heavy for meto hold onto,with thin wireas my connectionto a presented,cemented vow.It cannot beheld for much longer,because I’ll collapseinto the void,if I cannotremain as the oneyou avoid.I’ll return,bleeding alongsidethe sicknessthat you operate.It’s like a
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She brings herself into bleed amongstthe walls.She bruises herself,binds herself up,to reveal color.It helps for herto be held,to be kept in,far from the lightthat burns.It’s having for herthe opposite effect,when you see,when you dissecther atrophy.You’ll want to knowwhat her aim was,what her tearswere reaching for.You’ll want to guessthat her reasonsare about as fatalas her favorite
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Hold me here,I’ve been sobbingwithout fear,because its tuneis all I know.I’ve recalledits stillborn symphonyduring those periodsI lack symmetry.I’m relapsing,back before duskcan be the indicationof this delusion.I see the starsduring daylight,sing to the moonwhen the suntries to melt me.I hear the wordsfrom other’s lipsI want to say.I cannot speakwhat I want to saywith a starving mouth.With
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It couldn’t bewhat you hopeit to be,downgrading to dirt,resigning to hurtof not the meaningful,beautiful kind.You want spaceto reveal such woundsyou’ve undressed,you’ve allowedto become infectedwith your tirelessmisconception.True love was the knotthat you’ve untied,that you’ve wrappedof decaying strandsaround your bruised,breaking neck.Beauty wilts,while you strive forthe embrace of someonewho understandsmore your fiction,than your truth.It helps you staystill like
Modern Romanticism 