Let the sea swallow up My bleeding self. Yet, when the sirens do come to elapse My painful sickness, I will sit here To count of the cuts Lining my wrists, beneath the gleam Of burning moonlight. Try as we might To lick clean the wounds, As vanity proves its maneuver. Your lips, A searing to my pleading. I want to kiss, what I shall not regret. Your eyes Try to dry themselves In the lakes, Chosen of your rotten fingers. I kiss your heart. Your mind, I prod. I face your glance In the tides of this crawling ocean. I am washed by the ebony, To be let free by the ivory. There is smoothness to each kiss You drown In a heart that could not keep you.