Slanted Pale

The innocence of unbearable coldness,
Shall fill my body in devotion you provide me,
Your icy fingers and nails worship my throat,
You perceive my body,
Like heat in my mind,
Heals me not,
Hibernation of anger unable to pour distress.

Do not burn my bones,
Your cathartic push,
Pushes it's me into ignited lust,
Of pricking your skin,
Into stressing images of you walking away,
Fears of proclaimed insane faces like your dark hair,
But therefor the smell of death,
In between your veins,
Of your gracefully dress,
And your pink slanted nails.

Your emotions run through me,
As I'm tempted to provide a life for my own,
My dark draped insane decision,
Hurts my neck and bones.

This battle is ruined and my hands pull away
Therefor I'm am ruined through stigma's sore skin.
My poured mistakes,
My bite of committing unbearable faults,
Shall you heal me not into this throat cursing light?