Beautiful Loser

He is a Roman statue, whose chiseled torso is a
mountain range where streams of sweat glisten
like morning dew.
His eyes are narrow and darker than a solar
eclipse; however, there is no light to be discovered
behind his lustful glare.
A feral beast who takes the form of temptation, the
beautiful loser bends into any shape that pleases
the naive.
Unaware of what stirs beneath thin skin, a cold,
black catacomb hides a secret that destroys flowers
and disturbs the wicked.
And in the night, the animal is nude and vulnerable,
revealing his true nature to ominous eyes that can
only be the one true judge.
There is pain, there is fear, and there is a haunting
which occupies a place where the heart’s old drag
barely carries.
A mask for the world to see, and hidden behind
the porcelain is a snout and horns that grow from
high temples.
Like a church without the son, a father, and the holy
ghost is but a question to be found within the hairline
Desire feels around the mouth’s cradle and yearns
to taste the sweetness of innocence, because this man
cannot find it in himself.
For every boy is merely a toy, an object, or a body to
possess until the dawn breaks the night, and in the
morning he is still alone.

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I have currently been busy with life and I will be re-publishing older poems. New poems will come. I'm always under construction.

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