The Beast on a Plinth

Your so-called malfunction is merely a cornice to your manipulative ways.
This profoundly unique dirge you so secretly whisper is loud enough for one person to hear.
As dismal and desperate as your rehearsal may be your skin is still glass.
Idle and weak you writhe and suck dry the closest thing that will nourish your flacid black ego.
Although these words that lay against white may not sound like red roses dying amongst poetry, it's the truth of a beast on a plinth I tried climbing to in failed effort.