Perfect and Poisonous...

[uber_corp]

Put out the torches,
Light the moon, light the stars.
You always seem to have your head in your hands,
And one foot out the door.
I traced your lower lip with the fingertip,
On my left hand;
With my right behind my back.
Even I can multitask.
You live in terror,
Of not being misunderstood.
If a poet writes of his sorrows,
What, then, does he speak of?
And do not good practices lead to virtue,
And evil ones to vice?
When one can love and hate the same person,
He is Practical, Perfect, and Poisonous.