Runaways

Runaways,
This is our empty pledge:
To live as though we are not dead.
What deviant children
Of love we are
To tell the world
Our discolored desires!

Besides,
We care most to cradle
Scars and pains and gutted plans,
Each explaining,
"Baby, I'm still not who you think I am."

So they say to us
As we awkwardly grin,
"Your resolve makes this go on,
Aids the cycle aimed at death.
Because you know
As long as something's wrong,
We'll be here with bated breath.
For without you,
We're all without!"
They beg.