Prose
-
How many tears can I hold, in arms, that do not carry the future? I cannot even carry the present forward, for I hold the blame in me. I hold the scars close, the present watered from my eyes, with the blue seas around my feet. Land is so far away. Same with daylight. Though,…
-
“How can hope, be this sick?” says he, to the fog of himself, before the mirror’s idleness. For a reflection’s sake, love is his only teardrop to come forward, marking his humanity into the glass. It is at his feet. It is a puddle, mirroring him. A photograph. Of a woman, to the world. To…
-
We cannot look at love as anything other than a mode of stillness. Captivation. Here, a woman named Lisa breathes, brought down upon a loveseat from her husband, Jonathan, and his hands. He has kissed her forehead, remaining damp to his lips from exertion. A wandering smile, darts from East to West across his mouth,…
-
A burial. You are my tomb. My place, in the world, is forsaken. Upon you, I will rot, decay and slumber. In your arms, I am lost. I do not heal, for I am lost. I have always burned a trail for my feet to carry me. I have executed innocents, for the sake of…
-
Of her, I see something starless. Still, the shadows come to me, as they ache their remorse. For I have guilt that would set an ocean atop a scale, and weigh it to Heaven. Nothing could challenge the departure of myself to where I see, with eyes that are frail, the face of her at…
-
Who comprehends, else for you, the gates that have been broken open to spread the blue across the green? Who remembers, soon as they have caught, the subtle details to each of the creases upon these bandages? Of those, with tightness to this skin, that tape my withered form? Who sees, else but you, the…
-
I lay here, recounting the days that you have said those words upon the lakes. Upon where ripples cast ever greater waves, while loosening tides from your eyes, to your lips. There is great sickness, here. There is great powerlessness, here. Among me, so much is torn. Among you, there is much more to be…
-
Beauty is born upon her, with marks to her fields of skin. Imperfections that amount to the truths of this once-wounded woman. Cured by absence, though remains scarred in this man’s heart. Remains treasured more in his mind, than that orb of red. Of memories within bleakest stains, that never fade. They are the shadows.…
-
I couldn’t suffer for a second more. I couldn’t suffer. Breaking the promise, was to break my own heart. Shattered as the Earth, when tears rain as the meteor shower. Like stars, breaking my hemisphere. Breaking my divide, between needed diversion from insanity. For I had found my mind, straight into your own heart. Straight…
-
How upon a river, when that stream comes as tears, you’d ever be swept aside? My hands are disfigured, so unlike yours that bare themselves to the sunlit moon. Mine do tremble, beneath my face that has been smeared. Smeared by ash, while your hands are not with scars, though with the purity I’ve kept.…
-
Why ever do rightness unto another, when distrust is gathered upon you, blanketed by those I once did love? It is you I love, yet it is they I am forced to resent. It is you I am forced to say is the most important essence. That, to go back to a former time, would…
-
“A hole I have, for a heart. A raging ocean I have, for a mind. Cruelty is a sunset, that closes itself wide upon nothing that discovers comfort, when there is no warmth. Just an adulterous plague, that cheats the game of life, when it cannot follow the rules of loss. I hold residence in…
Modern Romanticism 