The Romantic

The Romantic

A small cell illuminated by a window.
Night framed in a cold wooden frame.
The stars are aligned, the moon is emptying.
A night painted for romance, but I am alone.

A small wooden radio plays on the shelf.
Old love songs echo in its empty chassis.
I never knew the tunes syncopated with my heart.
Heartbreak, loneliness resonated in my empty chassis.

A pen rests upon an empty page; a relationship inactive.
Imagination binds the two; the hand to draw the two.
Smiles are written, hands are held; experiences yet to exist.
Stories are fine. For me, stories are fine.

A single mattress with white sheets and pillow.
The only white in the room, the moon the only white in the sky.
Sleep is all I can do, dream is all I can do.
Love is only something to think about, love is only something to dream about.

The romantic…

Bitter Midnight (ver. 2)

So I had a minor critique about the way it was written, so, I did some small edits. Mainly switching from a third person perspective to a first person perspective.

Bitter Midnight

Sitting upon the stool; the tip of the toes touching the floor.
The tips of my fingertips pressed against the rim of the glass.
I clasp the rim as it were a hand and I twirled her lightly.
The liquids swirled gently as it were a dress. I stop the ice rest.
Holding the glass quietly, I caught her reflection; the moon.

I’ve been caught. She stares at me with jealousy, I grinned.
Knowing that I was the one that scorned her, and I un-scorned.
I lift the glass proudly and the rim touched my lips, and we kissed.
A torrent flowed down my throat; burning it. I set her aside.
In the end the affair was simply shallow, in the end it was nothing at all.

Slouching at counter barely able to collect my thoughts.
I look for another to fill her place; the background seems lively tonight.
In the end the glasses was never enough. No matter how many, or how much.
Those love songs sung on stage only seem to break my heart; ill at eased.
I finally understand the blues, and it oddly sets me as ease; as I kiss another.

Leaving the bar, alone; my only escort was the night.
Staggering as I walk, looking for a shoulder to lean on.
In drunkenness the streetlights flickered like falling stars.
The moon watches from afar; though it wasn’t a jealous gaze she placed on me.
Fumbling to find my keys, I let open the door, as I invited the night in.

Flinging myself onto the mattress I braced it with my arms; clenching tightly.
Shuffling, kicking, and rolling underneath the cold sheets; I try to warm the night.
I quietly whisper words of intimacy and secrets to the pillows; all the unsaid things.
Each moment I tried to get closer and closer, deeper and deeper into the night.
The night quickly left me exhausted; I fall asleep unknowingly.

As I woke night has left, and day has come.

Bitter Midnight

Bitter Midnight

Sitting upon the stool; the tip of the toes touching the floor.
The tips of his fingertips pressed against the rim of the glass.
He twirls the cup gently, as the ice dance gracefully.
Grinning softly, he catches the moon’s reflection in the glass.

As if he was caught, and scorn her with jealously and he held victory.
Proudly he lifts the glass to her and pressed the rim to lips; intimately they kissed.
The mistress’ fluids flowed down his lips; he placed the glass hard against table.
In the end the affair was simply shallow, in the end it was nothing at all.

Slouching at counter barely able to collect his thoughts, he downs the shot one after another.
The scenery slowly playing jovially as he broods; in the end the glasses was never enough.
Those love songs sung on stage only seem to break his hearts.
Now he finally understands the blues, and it oddly sets him as ease; as he kisses another in the corner.

Leaving the bar, alone; his only escort was the night.
Staggering to his left as he walked as if he was leaning on someone’s shoulder.
In his haziness the streetlights flickered like falling stars; the moon watches from afar.
Fumbling as he finds his keys, he lets the loneliness seeps into the small apartment.

Flinging himself onto the mattress he braces it with his arms.
Shuffling, kicking, and rolling around in the cold sheets.
He quietly whispers words of intimacy and secrets to the pillows.
The night quickly exhausts him; he falls asleep.

As he woke night has left, and day has come.

A Girl Shouldn't Smoke

A Girl Shouldn’t Smoke

She places the filter between her lips.
A flicker of the lighter and she inhale.
It creeps to back and moves its back to the front.
Out comes the smoke; clouding her in sophistication.

The accumulation of stress causes her to be the mistress,
Where on occasions she takes a step out, and tries to ingest a moment of relaxation.
Clouded fatigue and dull grey eyes,
Life could only be harmonized for a short five minutes.

Pressing her lips to kiss distress, like a moment of intimacy seen on the screen.
They’re lovers, but she’s slowly taking the life out of him.
Their lips part, and she holds puts the light aside between two fingers with much vanity.
Only to flick off the excess ashes, to lighten her load.

Glancing from the side of my eyes,
Curiosity is best describe, why I can’t look away,
Yet without a word to say.
Slowly peaking into intimacy as the smoke caress her.

Though my eyes could not look away, I was not impressed.
As the smoke confine her fine lines, clouded scars, and hid reality.
She stares at the haze like an old friend,
And slowly watches them depart; never to been seen again.

She takes the last drag, the ashes memorialized itself.
Flicking the filter aside, she steps back in, only to come back again.