It is a dream to receive everything I’ve wanted.
So, why do I return to this,
the feeling that it is a sin to be loved?
I stand between these parallel worlds:
one where trees are rooted,
the other where butterflies roam.
My spirit aches to cross the periphery,
where my heart can feel what cannot be seen.
Such is the predicament of a poet:
the desire to live among the gods.
Does such a place exist—
to speak a language few could understand?
To express image in sound and details—
folk tales manifested in truth.
Or do I abandon the chance at living a normal life—
starving on the loss of my future
while I daydream?
To receive, with empty hands,
I walk this solid ground.
Remind me again why I shall not grieve this life:
one that is fleeting, temporal,
where logic prevails over madness.
Sing to me myths that illustrate human tears.
Exhume these ruins shrouded under plastic and greens,
a material world threatened by its own finitude,
its antithesis—the lovers who reside beyond Eden
make pleasure last for eternity.
Twin flame, undead, I summon your name,
spelled with lavender and jimsonweed.
No more contemplating fictions between
romance and reason, but breathing words—
plaguing me with your unearthly presence.
Seduce me with stories that bleed,
slipping through arteries, wrapped in telepathy,
as I wander back to the vampires.