Romance
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It’s intimate,but not inanimate,since you still bleedfrom that woundlong turned black.It’s your soulthat deserves a storytold over ashes,shouted at a shorelinewhere vastness crashes.Can you keep thriving,being what you are?You wilt without color,being deprived,while drowning in shelterflooded with the residueof bereaving eyes.Can you keep representingan echo that won’t fade?If love finds you,once more, in this storm,would
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We threaten the rush,burn our fingersfor too long in their reachfor the rising sun.It is here, where we leavethe rest to its ruins,our breaths to be released,never to be returned.Into the void,drinking what washesthrough our throats,being the coldnessalways from ourcarved-out aperture.It is enough,after we listento the sound of a siren,for long enough.We will fall,we will
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Inside your eyes,sunlight has escaped,sadness has drawnits long trace.You want to live,as you are swimmingin the heartof a scorning storm.You’re here to revisita single face, from onedecorated grave,extended shadow.You want to back awayto begin to sing.You just repeat the echoesof the vacancyin your soul.It’s the space in you,it’s the hour that fledfrom your arms,your tattered
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Achieving our commonalityamidst this thickening,burdening fog.Healing our hearts,even in the depravityof a love gone wrong.It’s something to tastefrom what we did waste,with fingers dippedin the shed skin of ourgleaming hopes.It is our purpose to embrace,living beyond a magical,fantastical world.It is it our stormto seek our shelter in,with tears for our thirst.We missed the exit,but we
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It’s a shelter.It’s not security.It’s forever.It’s not eternity.It is limitless,because it’s a mazeto explore for soundsto define the craze.Am I aware?Am I awake?Have I fallen?When did I break?There’s a shellto call home.There’s this HellI cannot returnback to its sender,because its faceI cannot remember.I remainin this place,exposing no traceback to whereeverything began.I am coveredinside this cave,where
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You’ve translated it,the scenes you hold onto,the ones that Iwould not remember,when I had triedto have it severed.You’ve shown tears,while I’ve forced sunlightout from a pair of eyesI no longer recognize.You weep into the night,while I’ve been dreamingof the moon, its phases,its command to escape.I am realizingthat what I left behindmeans the most,because it is
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There’s the rush,the salience, the gushof color from allyour waves,your ripples,your curves.I find that Iam a child, again,toying with sounds,playing in the trafficof a thousand deadlyongoing motions.I am splashingwithin this heat,receiving whispersfrom the sun.You’ve been here,always on the runwhile waiting for fearto give up its turn.You are loved,but I cannot recreateyour lost Heaven,a departed haven.I
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Deprive a circumstance,depleting remorseto your foundations.Rebuild from the nothingthat condemns you,as you flee from it.Let yourselfjudge those milesfor their worth,weaving intricaciesfrom stale imagery.Embrace winteruntil you are paintingthose colors,those glimmersthat you smothered.Betray what wilted you,until you becomewhat grows from dust,whose blood flowsfrom the shade of rust.Defeat your doubt,construct an empirewith hands that onceheld the breathsyou choked
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Never-mindingwhat came beforethis inclinationof yours,because you punisheverything that comes,afterwards.It’s all written there.It’s a long historyburned into the moon,dancing on your eyesthat are blurredto the heat of the sun.You fall into lasting sleep,after another sessionof tears like autumn leaves.You’re hoping that,before your resurrection,you will drown.I see the smile,sensing what’s therebeyond its crease.You aren’t here,diseased with grief,departed
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Depositing soundsin the iron of an old wound,I am nowhere, foreverfearing myself,taking an endless turnto hear the moonof its laughter.There is no one left,while I am shoulderinga final, forbidden prayer,living where eonshave their domain.Who sees me,crippled in the flowof a shower of dust?The morning is solitaryin what it inviteswith its searing glare.The evening is cementinga
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Birthed as a child,while rising on wingsnot of your own.You’ve built a fortressfor your tears,for your defeated yearsto be rememberedwhen captured.There are no framesseeking your face,to reveal your smilewhen it has neverbeen drawn.To the candleflame,over to the deathof your vacant name,life channels youto revisit a beginningthat gave you up.Your footfalls are solid,while your skinbecomes the
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Its strengthis a kind of madness,deciding the actsin what I create,behind the curtains,beneath being buriedwith layering sheets.Its musicis not of sadness,while I’m livingfor the purposeof being this closeto a rhythm.A heartbeat,heard in long echoesthrough longer hallways.I’ve been rewritten,adding pagesto this state of bliss,revisiting stagesrepresented in a kiss.Who is Godfor giving whathas ripped me open?I am
Modern Romanticism 