The shallow pool of pleasure
Florescent flowers of wicked deeds
stinking, the soul of a lost man

Covered in creams of perfumed oils,
Smelly clots of an afternoon sweat
Dyed, his shreds of the heart

He walks head high around a street corner,
Fine silk, white, the dusty toes of yesterday's journey,
Towards a secret brothel of his habituation

Left and right, a foolish eye
Dropping fifty cents for a second,
Behind tattered curtains in a down town

Onto his bare chest,
Shooting rays of the sun,
Through tiny holes of grass covering

His mind yells in the darkness,
But clouds of desire rain fast and loud
Screening perfectly, the screams of elation

Time after thirty seconds,
Eyes wide open to a beautiful family,
A cherished daughter and kind wife,

Sudden, calm, the storm of desire
Worthless, the art of slippery,
Through, the thin walls of disgrace

Lying before, the mirrors of regret
Shattered, pieces of a broken trust
And now, covered in this blanket of depression