Writer
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How many tearsCan fit the frame?Using my ink for the note,Using my pain for the portrait.Desires maddened and longed forUnder the disused mattress, where I lay,Beneath the bed, where I stay. I stayTo hold your handIn the smallest goodnightsFaint, through a whisper.I swear, I escaped a tunnelOf your stare,Though the memoryAmong all its searing flashbacksRemains
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Recite words,Create verbs,Renounce your pleasantriesOf too many yesterdays.Make your moment specialWith the pain I will bring.Thorns in your hairOf a savior, unaware. Make your moment a musical dance,Free, with ebony sculptures,Motionless feet,Rendering deceitUpon bloody puddlesWhere reflections show conceit,Desires abound.You’ll see what can come to be. Love is a twitchOf your fingers in this Hell.Love lullabiesYour
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All tears come shatteringTo the pale mirror,Showing a dire reflectionOf something caught aflame.Was it between your legs,Or in your mouth?Was he ever in your arms,Or caught in your hair? Your beautyIs rain.A showerOf small fragments.You have become dividedUnder the notesUpon a piano, reciting the hymn,The requiem of torment. You have shattered the strings,Hanging by a
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Worry your bitter tearsAway from this winter,As Spring shows its green head,To my eyes, in red petals,To your eyes, in thorns. You run your hand along the stem,Sharpening your sadnessWhen your palm goes to meet your gazeStaring with such futile remorse.You bleed this winter through. The biting pain,The graven cold,The silencing shame,The somber moldOf your
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Always,AlwaysOne moment to the next,Of one discontent to anotherBringing back such crueltyWe had designed for the past,Not for our steps, ahead. We seem to be,Seem to beDrunks, for sadness.Life grows cruelty,HardshipUpon the sharpest thorns,Upon the makeshift births. Nothing is natural,Ever naturalAbout this viewWe have not made,Though the world conjures upAs the wavesFor us to swim.
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Wipe your eyes cleanNot belonging to the presence of pain.You are a sorry sightWith stillness to each shallow breathThat comes upA throat as hollow as a whisperYou make, as you shudderUpon the fright of your night. Let your eyes raise upBlue iris for blue sky.The windswept tears need to make itAway from thee, and over
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Sunder all with eyes of sadness,As your cup is drunk from, to its bottom.I love your loose eyes,Draining what tears you have left, for hope.I love your parted lips,Motioning whispers of escaping pasts. Gallop your horses,Make them walk.Make yourself the woman with a nested crownAbove your temples, above your head.You caress all your life with
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As I crowned you plentyWith smiles owing up to Heaven,Your arms that now embrace the lifeless voyageTo an eternity in peace,You still part a mouth for a silent kiss. In your barren glance,I see a painted reflectionOf me, in a mind that grows deep,Reaches highUnto the sunset and sky. I crown you with a wreath
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Drunk on me, As I drink you. You are the fountain of retaining youth, As I leak my old foundations to your warm center. Bleed out, for the both of us, As I will, too. Your hair is a stream, Your fingers are unfurled, Your words are a long walk Upon chapters in our existence.
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Your even tracesSpill wild graces.I am fixed upon the moonOf your prettied face.To then, your form beyond,To see, the great details beneathA changing expression. You have formed your formOut of ivory.I have tasted its sample,Of leaking perspiration. You battle quiet momentsWith fervent joy.You resound the chapters aloudOf our breath beneath the water. I taste of
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“My mind is not the greatest place to be. But, if you read one of my books, that’s exactly where you’re going.” – Sam Krieg (The Secret World)
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Trace your ground,Smother that soundOf years that belong to yesterday.There is too much at stakeFor you to break. I wed, through the sonnet,Your fabled face,In its truest grace.I speak syllables that matter mostTo the epitome of what is close. The gates surroundUs,Where we walk beyond the shore.We get undressedTo the rain, that stains our forehead.
Modern Romanticism 