Silent stares turn us to a statue-like repose
black mascara hides the somber affliction one
small sigh of a quiet lullaby one last night to
show what we are made of we have lost ourselves in
a calculated infatuation leaving us remains of
infamous operations its the perfect shape of my
heart
I give to you masquerading our abandoned
perfections behind closed curtains they cant see
what we've become a bruised and bleeding mochery
of something that was once so modest reduces us to
ashes of sin