Anti-Romanticism

you never gave me a note
for me to hum to every night
and chant myself into the elysian fields
how am I supposed to cope
with my heart completely absent
for years and years to come, who knows?

have I not sung loud enough
for you to hear the shape of my soul
in it stores the greatest story
I ever read of myself
purely composed by your mere existence

breathing in my dreams of you
I could saw myself into pieces
and the notion of your love
could piece it with the strangest
sense of love and joy
you exude every time I am
singing close to my skin

you allow me to survive
on this multifarious moments
that'd catapult me to
nights of self-decaying
the irregularities in the pattern
of my voicing in this land
forgetting my understanding
of the structure I once cared for

what do you not see
that you do everyday
blurred by the skies in your eyes
and the times you held your heart
to the promise you made whilst
your breasts were filling the cups
that were keeping my addiction

and I'd not eradicate any of it
no matter who you turned into
the hair you once hid to confuse
the people around you
it'd stop as soon your guilt
comes into the wettest gutter...