Writing
-
Pull myself togetherUnder your breathing form,In the circus of your entwining arms,Lurking in your shadowWhere I can melt my smileInto your veins. Like idle crossesWhere no savior resides,I can die, over again,For the faces that never wither,Bleeding and pulingIn the arms of their captured beloved.Pulling myselfDown, under your form,Not leaving. Hurts to love, hurts to…
-
I have lifted. I have always cried. Of stones that were carried in my arms, while tears fell from them, soon as they were squeezed. I was expected. To release truth, I was expected. Like love was something I could fall through, beating my heart, burning in my skull. I released. I let go myself,…
-
My love, where you sing your cries on an empire of your Hellish loneliness. How can the churches believe you? How can your smile ever be parted, from you? I will bleed along with you, my love. Treasure yourself, for the funeral cannot be far off. I will kiss your hand, for as long as…
-
How often does a memory last, wrapped in the thorny shrub of one’s heart? I’ve often twisted myself on the realization that love is something that can be forgotten. Though, for how was my youth, it was only naivety that swung me in that direction. Love is never a rope traded, for a heart on…
-
A: You must comprehend where his hatred originated, his anger originated, for it was not something he ever welcomed with open arms. B: How then, did it occur in his heart, when before, he was loving? A: To imagine a man, who once had a heart full of love. To understand him, to have paid…
-
In my dark,Where reflections are my understandingOf so-limited truth,She brought out my lost notes,My sacred pledges,Deserted among the strangled ocean,Born down upon my arms,Where I can bleed her,Soon as I lose her. Losing her,Beneath waves, cold as silk,Long with the tide,Curving her,Writing my truth upon her form,White as the porcelain,Glistening as the ivoryOf wilted bones,Like…
-
Like fogDancing atop your smearedForehead,While kisses remain steadyTo pull me throughThe keenest kind of birthInto your arms.Like loveNever had a melody to shareWith the empires,Corrupt,And unkind. One ariaThat blew free from your lipsLike red to mix with the windOf fleeing shepherds to their flock,To all they lost.Your captured memoriesLay lingering upon your beating heart,Lighting aflameThis…
-
To be the victim, or to create victims, in a world where tears cannot let go without running far. I held her hand to still her pace from the shore. I held her waist, to continue on the dance through life. I twisted my face, so that pain would be mimicked. I bled my mind…
-
For the highlightsOf coming days,Where your face recedesIn the transparent waters,Where I can falter, upon your cadaverThat the sun has lit, like for two eyesThat will never open. To the recognitionOf rivers that run backwardsTo memories, to claim their origin,As I can, while tears make their waysBack to my eyes. For as I guide my…
-
FallingInto empty circlesBranded with your kisses,Stained by the blood of your heart.I can reachFor a void, where you belonged,Yet, you still shower me in your excessive light,Leaving love to my arms,Caressed like a whimpering child. Leave my own heartTo the storm of your hypocrisy,That I might terminateAll the blood that flows through your halo,That I…
-
“A lie is imagination, burning an image into sight only ever convincing. The truth, however, is something that wallops you so hard, you will find it shocking.” – Modern Romanticism How far can a writer take creativity, when it comes to a fact? To comprehend creativity, itself, as unlimited in the human imagination, will make…
-
I can falter,I can swimBeneath the scenery you cast forthFrom such a pallid stare.I can worshipWithout being on my knees,The holiness of your unendingBeauty.You can take your eyes to the sun,Marking spots where we can runAs our faces cry outTo something we have missed,That we gather up. Set your place among the world,Dear one,For you…
Modern Romanticism 