Epicurean Masquerade

For years he masqueraded the streets

Eclipsed by an array of dancing shadows

He weeped a harrowing sea of tears


Never once had he sought company

Bared by the hands of mere strangers

Nor had he ever offered himself


To be conquered by such fools

In restaurants across distances

He'd gaze as loads of people



Drunk of the finest wines

And ate of epicurean dishes

Briefly they traded glances


The profound malice searing

Ever so fervently in their eyes

Leaving a bad taste upon his breath


Soon after the heightening hatred

Had so suddenly evaporated

Back to square one he was


Anxiously he reached for his cigarettes

A taste of smoke he passionately craved

Tragically he had traded his lungs

In exchange for temporary relief

Cancer was his psychologist