Self-Perpetuating Algorithm

My mother would always stick a candle next to my father’s ashtray,
and I, being a boy, thought her attempts poetic and brave.
Now, trapped in the sick scent of smoky plumeria petals,
I simply wish she had thrown the ash out, and me along with it.
 
A dream persists though, through the fog of myself.
A childish metaphor that I’ll sing to the night.
 
Encapsulated in Poseidon’s poisonous paws,
eternally perpetuating ephemeral epiphanies
as though they were truth;
Ariel lays asunder from insincere romance.
She dreams of life above breathlessness
but drowns in her own discontent.
 
Now you’ll find me wrapped inside myself,
realizing that I’ve become Poseidon in mind
and Ariel at heart.