Parlor Tricks

 
In the eve grieve for hurt not expressed
holding tight to the pain
a feeling of sadness presses in

Satire of artistic need ridicules
my already depressed state

Sink then rise to greet
sour infliction
sinister greed

Corrupt a vision
then bleed for sorrow
a metaphor for doubt

Sordid details are meaningless
I stake my desires
to the pallor lust
it burns in the background

I turn off the flame