Unbreathable Sadness

The candles found their way into dimness.
The light was here earlier, but left with a brownish curl.
I am not thinking.
What a calvary:
I have fallen for wonders that have circles in every corner.

You came to Roseville once, to light my grass.
There were massive boulders that washed away our survival, but we traced a line together.
I taught you.
You hid your rosary but there was not a single drop of guilt in your eyes.
I taught you.
You hid your rosary and the ashes from your tombstone.

Your vain interests are circling over my head, and the truth steadily laughs at your black humor when I begin to realize you don't please me.
How do I manage to have you please me (with yellow-brownish happiness)
having me pleased you before,
ignoring your ravishing, impeccable swagger.
Passionless swager.

Back to the field, to the Calvary.
Who's to know if St. Christopher's blood cells have any advice left.

I moan here. But I remain mute for you.
Solar shields are heading south.
Jesus knows where you stand:

Overseas.