Romantic Torment

The Unconventional Truth of End Life

Author: G.C.M. (aka RomanticTorment)

My tears have dried to dust
My heart has turned cold
All my hopes have been dashed,
and all my dreams too old.

I’ve no arms to hold me tight,
I’ve no lips to kiss tenderly goodnight.
I can barely recall the feel of Nature’s fire
I can barely recall the touch I so terribly desired.

How do I go on,
when my world is so empty?
How do I go on,
when all that I love is no longer with me?

I try to be strong,
but the effort is diminished.
By the hypocrisies and lies,
we’re all so secretly proud to relinquish.

Wasted effort,
to a practicality hard to accept.
Sorrow’s aching pain,
makes even Misery’s tenacity pale.

I’ve no innocent smiles that will warm me,
I’ve no mirthful humor to even enlighten me.
I can barely recall the priceless worth of a gaze,
I can barely recall the blissfulness of a summer day.

My memories now only plague me,
my recollection of events a tragic blur.
My body, now true to age, betrays me,
to a life that seems bashfully absurd.

Yet, a life lived is still a life worth having,
and in that I still somehow cherish it.
Wistful abandonment also adds weight to say:
‘I regret nothing, and shall regretfully miss everything.’

© 2010 by G.C.M. (aka Romantic Torment)

In The End, Nothing Really Matters
Author: G.C.M. (aka Romantic Torment)
Written: 8-16-09
Revised: 8-25-09

In the end it doesn’t really matter;
everything done is undone.
So what’s it really matter in the end?

I’ve tried so hard,
but the effort goes on wasted.
The memories remain,
haunting me endlessly upon sleepless nights.

What am I left to hope for,
when everything has been raped from me?
Why bother to struggle,
when everything I touch crumbles apart in my hands?

In the end it doesn’t really matter;
everything done is undone.
And nothing really matters in the end.

© 2009 by G.C.M. (aka Romantic Torment)

It wasn’t always within my rights…

At times I am outside myself, looking in, reflecting on the choices I have made. Specifically those that brought me to the point of where I am now. All this time wasted, discarded, or used abusively. Leaving me parched. Thirsty for more, and yet somehow I feel like I’m sufficating to death. A soul’s oppression, turned riot, by the immoral choices I’ve made perhaps?

Are we all similar in a world half gone mad? How many of us are utilizing our time here on this planet wisely?

I descend into a cynical frame of mind…..