Your earnings on the road,
Masking your jealousy with fragrance,
Radiating the wind
With frailest streams
That could ever extend from your eyes.
Of blue upon the black
Voids of life, where lakes cover
The voids of our deceit.
How are we
This close to the end,
Yet, I have not held you
In arms, that sir deeper
That any silent weeper, in the oceans
Of his frozen life.
I am withering in these chains,
More brittle than the silence
I am struggling to cope with my sanity
That loses itself to calamity,
While the world urges us to our deaths.
There are marks,
Like living statues
Gleaming better, for ages
Where porcelain meets the sentence
Between my frozen lips,
As I melt between your arms,
Wishing to be held, born forever.