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Keeping here,painted in smears,letting goof teardrops from a moonwhose face is that of a silver trace,whose presence waitsfor another night, seeing me, unanswered. Broken song.A wail from a throat,and in the reiterating of speech, I repeat what I thoughtwas never said, was never repeated, was never saidwhen we were never wed. It was said,a long
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It sticks to symphony,the erroneous areaswhere we weremeant to be.Covered with ink,displayed wide,while given no room,no space to think.Love dried,like the boneswe laid for dustfor them to become.Life died,bloated with bleakness,drenched with the honestyof our intentions.What we went on fordidn’t believe in us,didn’t favor us.Whatever we desiredconditioned us to distrustthe smallest of sincere words.Our faces,
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Love is not an emotion. If love is said to “conquer all”, then if it were an emotion, such a saying would refer love to conquering itself. What love conquers is what’s momentary, fleeting, and bound up more within lust over what’s timeless. All emotions pass, as they are feelings, not states of being. In
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Soft sighs,delicate tonguedecides for mewhat to say,to unleashone word.Love is a ropearound my broken neck,as I fall up to the skyto see what Ileave behind.It’s for your sake,because I know that Iwon’t be myselfwhen it’s only youthat I get up to wear.Life is a swirlof lingering conflicts,each one a stonegetting colder.I’m not among them,when I’m
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I’ve run in circles,stretching my hopes,telling that, since birth,there was somethingI’ve left behind.Existence didn’t matterwhen fuses are burned,when eyelids closeat the slightest flickerof shimmering light.I’ve removed the covers,held up my honestyto a dying flame.I wished for too much,more than there wasto bind these wounds.What would Heaven decideas soon as I come downfrom this tumultuous,exhausting ride?What
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It buildsinto dense atmosphere,swapping nothing,no more, not whenwe’re entering a stateof completion.We’ve bled,wounding our eyesin separation of our bliss,while it is nowwith four lips combined,we share a kiss.Our sounds rise,the curtain are pulledto provide one roomwith total darkness.We’ll bloom in sightof our glowing faces,in sight of riversbinding for eternity.A blessed rose,an evening that fell,closed lids
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I’ve been burnedfor believingthat this turn was mine,that around anotherspotted corner,I can come upbreathing softly.I cried another night,screaming in the silence,hearing my wordsfloat away.I’ve done somethingto deny what’s mine,living cautiouslyupon the tides.The world seems torotate in reverse,as I revisit old feelingsthat I never deservedwhile I’m alwaysdigging for meaning.It’s the fireI’ve abandoned,as it’s the coldI’ve capturedin
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I reminisce,I keep quietwhat little I’ve leftto lose under thesedark, falling pieces.Brittle boneshave lost their place,have been remindingthis mind, into tormentupon the rewindingaftermaths.Burning crowdslook upon me,as I release three wordsof desperate reunionover the possibilityof reentrance.I want what didn’t laston time’s uncertain flow.I want what I didn’t knowrecedes with cruel fate.It stayed,for the briefest second,just to
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An ignited pathinvites me, on a whisper,loosened from rotting lips.An imminent voyageis presenting a riskI’ve not seen before.I’m letting my skinbe burned, starting frommy outreaching fingertips.I’m deaf to my screams,as I’m overtakenin this release.Distanced from the lightof this burning avenue,I’m dragging my fleshthrough the dark.I’m blind to the sparksthat die as quicklyas my heartbeats.I commit
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I tell death totake my final fragmentas the final letterI’ve presented to an ocean.For too long I’ve lostwhat messages I provideto that solid colored,open vastness.For this one time,there will be no moremundane repetition.For this last time,I’ll be in the bottle,I’ll be at its bottom.I’ll sink, not floatfor another life span,merging with the voidkept in the
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Hell has invited mewhen I crawl towardsits vacancy.I’m no morein touch with a reasonthan the beautiful budwill find a wayto flower.I’m just againstthe noise that sticksto these walls that lift upa certain frequency.I’m crying for lessof those listening soulsto deter mefrom mourning me.They’re too oftenready to aid me,when all I wantis the low tone.I bring
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Folded handsmimic the creasesin timeworn clothing.I’m holding onto morethan what I thoughtI took from the occasion.Black figures,blood-shot eyes,tears bloomingfrom souls in mourning.There are endless waysto tell this story.This is only one wayto say how it ended.A petal fellfrom one who died,from one who rosewith the color redtearing through her lipsto greet me.She’d rewind meto the
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The sky is notdeep enough.I’m facing it,twisting knots,desperate to notcome undone.The ocean is notfar enough,holding the same coloras bruises I bare,with full shamefor their stains.I’ve hurt in this locationfor the secondsI stopped countingonce an eon arose.I’ve been dreamingwithout knowingthe difference betweenmy void and my voice.Craters are asymmetricalafter my tears fallas colorless shapes,from a formless state.I’m
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Modern Romanticism 