Contemptuous Desire

Do you think of me with your crooked smile?
With your jaded vision and your senile mind?
Do I appear in your tasteless thoughts?
Wander alone in your breath of doubts?
Am I the stranger with the thorn?
Buried deep within this infant born,
The pain of hope its father to be,
The comfort of disappointment its holy mother misery.

Do I have the same scales from which you hide?
Do my words threaten your very composure inside?
Am I the confusion that plagues your mind?
The one that makes you tremble and shun your kind?

Have I laid claim to the abyss in your eyes?
Do you lift those devil eyelids to cause me my demise?
Will we ever be together as one?
Or still bent into two by the pilgrimage we’ve done?
When I speak of us, will I be deemed a liar?
Or shall I continue like this and ridicule my desire?

[Cluster IV]