Despised Icon

This desire is so annoying, like a red hot rock in my palm
My nerves hurt and my legs convulse
Walking on broken glass
The soporific serenity permanently reflected in your charming face gives you jurisdiction
A soiled soul infects the spine during a segment of time
Particles of truthfulness suppurate from this almost perfect being
The eye of satisfaction disappears to give place to arrogance and discontent
I wait for a crucial gateway between trickery and facts
Someday the sun will vanish and give place to an appalling night