Cross my heart and hope to die

I'll keep the secrets that I store:

a living bomb, there's only time

until my own fire makes me no more.

A Pandora's box shut with shadows,

a thin gold foil rusts from within,

pestilence pulsing as three hearts-

mirror-like surface wears thin.

Combustion starts with the mind:

Gone is sense and tactful yearning,

my breath taken away by blackened lungs,

and the tenacious heart won't give up burning.

The only act worse than hiding

is showing the pain for the world to mock,

the only vile thing save crying

is to not keep these evils under lock.

And when I slip, my fears confirmed that

Won't you all turn your backs, defying

that truth- backs are made for stabbing,

Blind eyes for weeping, smiles for lying.

Patience, though a virtue, is limited

Every day is a bruise lacking blood,

though not a devil, no one's a saint

We murder dear hope with tears that flood.

Caressing a chilled steel blade

I touch apart my throbbing throat

Cold- but I'm not ice-

steam rises- to mouth from boiling heart.

Surface tension wears to breaking point,

even water-walkers drown to fly

So maybe, with these sharp secrets

I'll cross my heart and hope