There is always a victory
when you have the spoils
But while you are enjoying sumptuous pleasures
Decay has begun to spread
Rot spoiled and stinking
with an unbearable stench
While memories decide to haunt you
There are no reasons for concern
so you continue to burn
dried puddles of wax on the floor.

The pleasure of smoke
As you continue to burn
Is all you can rely on now
withering with a slimy glee
in the face of days that continue to glow
You are a victim
But only of your humanity
And your hands need to raise
With defiant fists
With desperate grasps
With deep caressing
With humble shakes
But it is hard to keep them from my eyes
And I will continue to try
Before the spoils turn to rot.