Untitled (the idol)

She's like an idol,

a false goddess, never to be touched,

only wanted, worshipped, wreaked.

She's a weakness,

a weakness in me;

painful desire,

admittance of dark secrets,


But never touched

by my moral hands, lips

- not enough,

never up to that standard.

Pay homage at her feet,

beg for the notice, the time;

give self-sacrifice,

shall I pay in blood or tears?

I am stupid enough

to love someone I will never see,

I am stupid enough

to repeat past mistakes,

I am stupid enough

to be blind to her fault.

She is lost to me;

an angel off her pedestal,

a demon off her leash,

running wild

in her human form and heart.

I'll keep her, for me,

as that untouchable image,

that false idol,

- so much safer that way.