the grave robber -- sestina

I am a victim of steady hands
A chimera of skill and necessity
A harbinger of false hopes
A master of the most meticulous scalpel art
A surgeon of the darkest night
The worst kind of nightmare

You told yourself it was just a nightmare
When everything you held close at your hands
Fell apart and slipped into the night
Like a fleeing lover from the bed of necessity
Keeping it all together, dear, is an art
And in life, there's no room for lost hopes

For you, I had had higher hopes
I really wanted you to wake and see this nightmare
For what it truly was: A deceptive form of art
That you could mold with your own two hands
Because we are creatures of necessity
And dreams are just the needs of night

So when I happened across you that night
It seemed inevitable that I'd raise your hopes
And quell inside you the necessity
To find fear in all nightmares
I held your face between my hands
Seduction is also one of the finer arts

But that ruse, those theatrical arts
Were meaningless compared to the vastness of night
Your hands in my hands
It was nothing but words and your childish hopes
That brought me and your nightmares
Together out of greed and necessity

And it was by necessity
That we parted, I with the art
Of being just another nightmare
That could fade with the night
And leave you with broken hopes
That maybe you could still find solace in my hands

But nightmares aren't meant to transcend the night
It's never a necessity to understand the art
You'd hoped to succeed, but instead shook Death's cold hand