Never Smooth

Submit to the spell or remain in hell
Is what the true aesthete does mean to say
Disguising it with such craft as he can
Under which lurks a self-satisfied smirk

Decorate’s the watchword not contemplate
Leave suffering aside, deny inside,
Privilege spectacle, if intimate,
Against the turning to return within

Remainder that’s left to glow in the dark
Is reminder that awkwardness of truth
That feeling reveals will never be smooth
For destiny of loss is beauty’s root

Why bother to test what’s soon to be moot?
Overcoming rests on undergoing