The crimson rays of the sun tantalize the sand of mourning,
and yet, as the sun brushes down on the squelching moans,
I see everything, and nothing, so clearly as if the sun were white —
Tears make kaleidoscopes of hovering hearts.
It clings to this wasted game; yes, it smears the innocent ...
It smears the innocent until the light is as desolate as Sodom.
Clouds settle on the youth, draining them till they fade into shadows.
I, too, find among the shards of another broken mirror.
Wine stains the carpet, but not as much as it sears my soul.
Soulmate, when shall our darkness intertwine?
When shall we meet and declare, "Checkmate?"
Another day caresses the hopeless, the reckless, the unsatisfied.
I wither away every stroke of dusk;
at dawn, I pour into the ditch,
bitter like unripened cherries.
Time is slow;
Youth is pleasure;
Love is a waste
unless you find your
How shall I find you,
Until we meet ...
- another hopeless romantic.
I'm a writer.