Deconstruction of a Happy Mind

 If only these thoughts of you would manifest 

within the consciousness of my mind— 

like a vision of an angel swirling across 

a turbulent tryst of a triumphant time, 

before a being manifests akin to you but acts 

not in the fashion you justice yourself with, 

craving shallow needs and meaningless words 

caught in the foreplay of a vacant pleasure of sight. 

Weakness then becomes your glance  

that shroud my future in a perilous gaze, 

while the shadows that dance beneath those eyes 

cast their winter sheets underneath my pain, 

their hollow screams ringing over this silence 

that rattle the cages of my tepid dreams, 

as I stare out through the tattered blinds 

 of the windows that line across my tainted soul. 

Let me prove a point or two or fail miserably at it, 

given the chance to hurt my conscience through disparity, 

a constant that traces its path on the trajectory of my life— 

a fiend of a friend who falsifies my fallacy into fabrication of facts. 

Would you then be gravely mistaken when you discover, 

a moment tethered to an inferred conditioning, 

trapped together in a circle of hopeless ritual of disgust, 

irrevocably bound to a glory forever defiled? 

These fantasies put through an opaque wall of desires, 

I burn the midnight oil fueling flames and faith 

that hold steady to the cold draft of an autumn night, 

but flicker against the flippant promises made by you.  

Yet together, as we tamper with these memories, 

so taut with overzealous rendezvous and dividends, 

we are reminded of an existence tortured in lies

that tears across our skin with a final grin of façade.