Prose
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Love walks. She walks. Or, she had walked, and now she lays. Upon a back with eyes to a ceiling. Her ceiling. Her mind with walls and the drawn-in above. A world of hers, this Lisa, who can smile without sincerity. Radiance makes its way over her skin, masking something more than this. A belief…
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“She raises that head, to reveal the streaming face of hers, running as painful flames, as lava, from two eyes like twin suns. As though the fire in her was the only thing to raise the face, revealing the same trickles, the same tendrils, both in tear stains and expression.” – To not Sink a…
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“We always lean to kiss the flame that is never meant to wither, like the flower.” – To not Sink a Friend
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“For love does not leave a tear to drop from an eye, without its catching before it reaches the Earth. It would only grow another standing statue, another beloved, who faces her hands in the infinite sorrows.” – To not Sink a Friend
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She is that, within herself and behind her tears. She holds the moon for her solace, with the sun for her shame. A life so wrenched, with idle strands before her forehead. She beads the tension to the surface of porcelain skin. A woman, who so wants to be held, without slipping free. A little…
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“The cure comes to us as what was lost, to then be found, even if needing to be dug up from a grave. Love is never a stolen moment. It is, though, something that was never found, never owned, never discovered upon the road where it was walking. For we are not robbers of that…
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She stands so Hellish. She would move so Hellish. Lisa whites out her flame, her spark for a dream, before a sleep ever began. She stands in a fire, and walks in the inferno, for she likes the burn to touch her. She looks at herself around the flame’s tendrils, like its form can be…
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“What do you comprehend?” protests Joel, going to say, “You believe you realize what thrives in my heart? I am madly in love with her!” “Do not be so angered. As a friend, I merely wish to speak with sole honesty. You are in torment with her, and even without her physical presence,” says Aaron.…
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He carries her. She is guided under his palms, meant for this. For the rushing blood, the skin to be agleam under the brightening moon in the midnight hour. He has startled her, in his wrapping arms about her feebly thin waist. He watches. Her notices the whistling tension from her mouth, and he washes…
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He speaks directly to her ear, “You are still so small, my child.” She withdraws to peer upwards to his gaze, with quivering lips and weary stare, to then commit a moment in a burning. She kisses him. Upon the lips, smooth with each waxen mouth that fires up a fever to the downing daytime.…
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Walking upon the Calle Mayor, passing the red of nearby buildings, a thumping heart swells so wide. He wants, as he could think on it, to see over his shoulder to a past, igniting his eyes with all he once had. For he says, “I love. Though, do not love enough to be stable, in…
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Love is the Devil’s madness, as it will remain God’s laughter. We describe how such an injection from a divine one, will be for humans, in their evil, to be something unlike what they simply desire. Blue is the color of tears, while green is the color of growth. Can we have the latter, without…
Modern Romanticism 