then you wrapped me in molds of wax and oil,

and your tongue scorched every fissure of mine;

the stars that once shone for you only toiled,

and you lit me in blue fire set aflame.

then you bobbed yourself in the seemingly

endless array of heartbroken victims,

and you hurled yourself down, down to the sea,

I stood there, alone-wanting but a glance.

then I turned away, reclaimed mine among

your jar of wasted and forsaken hearts,

stitched up all the half-truths you did prolong,

realised manipulating was your art.

but then at the end of our night and day,

all was in chaos, yet I was okay.