Moon of a marble

When the moon stops rising I want to peek and go blind from the saturation.
Turning me into a frost forsaken werewolf in a icy coma.
I wish to sleep in a shivering second to live forever in a frozen moment.

Across one's shame lies my dilated pupil watching the myth being believed in.
I have become my own worst enemy feeling this putrid of hate I didn't use to feel.
Cryostasis of a werewolf cant keep me from being torn apart.

Within the darting eyes between the fingers I kept the moon from reaching it's destination.
Like a marble being rolled toward the sun to beat it for all that it is worth.
While my silent howl deafens the orphans on the cold streets from being noticed.

I barely feel the heat of the morning's angel's tears pouring into the silver cross from the statue.
The ones that are supposed to be caring is keeping the immortal beating heart locked away.
Redemption begins when they hear the silent howls from the rest of us.