Wax Cherubs

The dripping waves of
wax cherubs
swam over my eyes
and engulfed my
mortal body
and the more sinful
the occasion became,
the guiltier
I was compelled to feel.
Guilt was (and is)
a common emotion,
intercepting with my judgment
and false presumptions.

This is so unhealthy,
and I love it more than
anyone else could.

I want to layer reality
upon surrealism and paint your fingers
black and blue,
just to show the agony
that you swear you've felt.
Oh, and I see past the tar footprints
you've lefts traces of on my
mummified inner child,
but I can forgive nothing,
except for your worldly ignorance
and trite ability to consume the life
from each section of my soul.

This is so unhealthy,
and I love it more than
anyone else could.

Ripen your calluses
and strike my ribcage once
more (for my anemia's sake).
Auburn lashes are overrated
and out of stock,
but I wanted something dyed the
same shade as my emptiness, you see;
I want nothing in return.
Oh, the moon was
all too frayed and pale
in the light of the falling sun
and I winked seven times
into your broken mirrors,
because repeating an action
seven times
is equivalent to good luck.

I only want the best for someone
whom I will never come to know.

Rasping engagement
and striving for not what I want,
but for what others want for me;
I feel cornered in my own government.
Raped in the web of steam and lies,
I need to put myself to sleep,
and stop letting my determination die.

This is so unhealthy,
and I love it more than
anyone else could.