the young woman as she sensually rubs
a weeping man's shaking hand.
His emotions have oozed like pus,
alcohol letting the demons roam
as I watch with schadenfreude, alone.
But then I view a self-portrait
and my malice melts like ice
under the rising spring sun.
The mirth from other tables
might make torment even harder to bear
but perhaps the poor soul...is unaware.