Who here lives in a house with no glass?
Tell me your whispers and kisses are pure,
swear that all your oaths were true,
promise that no hearts bear scars from you and then my head will bend down.
Tell me that your tongue has thrown no lies to lie flopping and glistening on the floor;
tell me that your tears have dripped from no crocodile's eyes,
tell me that your golden words are tarnish-free and I will let these judgements stand.
Your skin has felt no invading hands,
your lips know no regrets,
your halo balances untouched on a head that has never been unkempt.
Tell me that your wingspan overreaches your secrets, seraph,
tell me that perfection is a state of being.
Teach me how to reach your life of sublimation so that I can reproach the human and remain clean.
Is it true that you built a shelter immaculately windowless?
Is it true that your uncalloused hands have never left a mess too great for apologies to mend?
Tell me how to be flawless, seraph,
teach me how to learn without mistakes.
Tell me how you got to where you are without kicking up dust or getting dirt on your face.
I want to know, Perfection,
how you can tell I am so far from enough with eyes so tightly shut-
see no, hear no, speak no, you know?
I want to know how you got so high above me that there's room to look down on my human mistakes.
What scale do you use that weighs my flaws as so much greater than good actions and intentions?
Does it weigh you the same, Perfection,
or have you ever tried?
Who here has never seen the world through crocodile's eyes?