Guise

I am nourished by the sound of buzzing
Flippant razors that tickle the senses
Beneath the bridge of a life worth loving
Between the silence of lies, pretenses
 
Who is that on the painted puppets path?
Wounds which yearn for warmth under scarlet rays
Cooing grey confetti and pastel scrap
Consequences for walking the round maze
 
I am ravaged sick by beady brown eyes
Each footprint a threat to my late success  
Am empty chair symbols my last dance
Arriving early to my excess
 
Out of sewage molded to fit my shape
In sorrows guise the future still awaits.