As the Cardinals Slit Their Wrists

As the cardinals slit their wrists,
I inhale eulogies from every kiss.
Hollow operas my lips would not forget,
pools of toxicity in which I reminisce,
drowning out my breath with a cigarette.

I'm drinking crimson from a bitter gash;
taste the oceans swimming in your tongue,
Where I catch snowflakes made of ash,
and the idols of Jesus crashing young.
Blacken the skies with adolescent wings,
and fill me! leave me! Or bury me;
tear from me the ever lonely strings.

Like sands dividing through an hourglass,
watching chances of suicide driving pass.
In my bed constructed of bones
my eyes have been kissed asleep.
Distantly I'm hearing erotic moans,
ripping through my skin with the force of bricks;
or is it just the dead, walking in the deep -
Of a six six six?

As the cardinals slit their wrists,
I choke on swords of confession that only miss.
The fires are burning me with lies
third degree burns from the shattered bliss,
as I fall asleep gazing into my own eyes.