The Wallpaper

The bulbs hold in their inky hands Lights with dimly-lit eyes Stalking lanterns hanging off of iffy wallpapers Tracing patterns in circles of ferris wheels; The ring at times extends its arm toward the windows dressed in sheets of ethereal reflections, Eventually tipping off the wooden plank into echoes Diluted by colours seeping into them from petals of dry rose blossoms; The wallpaper clings to the crisp borders of our room Questioning boundaries of right and wrong, Swirling empty glasses of sin; Roads form at its parched toes Leading finger-legs off the same ledge Into revolving chimes swirling within the same flask of wine;