A Vandalism Called Addiction [POEM]

The sight of those violet eyes through the thick shattered shards of glass
Smoked by Nicotina’s fumes, ashen by the incineration it kindles.
The thoroughfare of passersby seem to mould no difference devant a mass
And the avenues that were braided to perfection seem to wither, untangle and dwindle.
The modesty en-caged in the scribbled infinity of the id stands as the lone, homely fortress.
The admonished perspective penned sans shape are the only syllables that can be comprehended.
The red faced paddle bodied, smoky princess are all the company in the crumbling palace.
Among all the things that are not erect, just moulded, graphically emphasized and bended.
Luxurious, it all seems, it is, to have that chosen one for the apprehensive eternity.
Coveted prequels need not indicate with certainty towards a decorated future ahead.
The grace of excellence at that moment breaks down the machinery of longevity,
And the taint that entraps once shall never be vanquished and varnished from the mast head.
The rim as bright as a solarium, enchants all those who proceed inwards.
Conducive turns cynical, and what should be cynical remains so.
The clandestine disposition is denigrated to levels that cannot be expressed through words.
Standards change to heights, that dig deep, buried underneath low.
The azure bludgeoning denizen that resides within, possessing an uncanny devour.
The red petaled, multi-carpellary Zinnia it’s now cleistogamous to protect from the dark devout.
It is a grace for a petty minute, but a narcotic for each coming hour,
And the sweep that pulls the one off guard shall be as merciless as an alien rout.
It is a toxin that stings less when it attacks,  but stings more as it recedes.
Contemplated distress that flows with no seeming finity like an ideal toroid.
The final pandemonium of hopeful joy just raises it’s hands and concedes.
And then is the sight of the pitch black, dimensionless void.
Nonchalance in addiction, draped in the counterfeit mandate of beneficiary mimicry.
The Benedict seems satanic and the telly irrational seems charitable enough to withhold.
Far the cries reach, the outcries against the despicable euphemism to set ’em free.
Far the cries reach, the outcries against hardly meticulous vows, to make them realize true gold.
Habitually irritable, fundamentally subconscious, mannerly utopian yet powerful.
Erroneous while hostile, bland hope to overcome pale bliss, violent proactively and philipic.
One feels attached connubially, to others that one’s is a mongrel, for whom there is no colorful.
Plagiarizing yet powerful, conversion is the task that is at limits astronomic.
And that sight still staggers me, the violet eyes through the tattered glass,
Smoked by Nicotina’s fumes, ashen by the incinerating solace it kindles.

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Poetry lover? Check out Gitanjali: A Collection of Indian Poems by the Nobel Laureate