I am standing disappointed

I am standing disappointed
under the hush orange lights.

I am standing under my own disappointment,
as Narcissus, I look at myself too often.

I starve every happiness I have
ignorant of the billions who have their own sugared-tears
and to the fires of Venus
I throw away every letter I spelt
for I am a vulgar person
caught candid on some lupin-festered night
where the Moon sank in draft puddles.

I am understanding the disappointment
                   of myself
as noone wishes to see it
but I speak with a gentler tongue
and fortify with a dirtier mind.

Underneath all this disclosure
of a setting Sun,
I wish only that I had none.

What do you think? Criticisms and praise welcome.

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