Sinking The Harbor.

Bring me the little one of the embarked graves.
You must be reprimanded,
Your false smile of purple and emerald
Is very much like a falling icicle into the mundane heart.
You have crossed to many black lines,
And your hands are washed in crimson,
Pale nimble fingers that want things no one does.
You are laughing at your demise, wind chimes and bells,
And your eyes say to me:
'One must keep distance
To not find my lake.'
Bring the little one to me this instant.
I see something in those maggot strands and blistered touches.
You captivated something rare I hadn't felt.
Your heart sleeps in my ears,
Blue and cold as I want it to feel more.
Who are you to cross me?
Come here. You shall never leave.