Smoke and Mirrors

Wuthering gales scratch at my pale façade,
Every stroke bleeding a year from my life.
The stage is set: my lone red rose awaits;
Atop the wet soil, for the performance.

From a dark box, a reluctant flame emerges:
Relentless winds show their mercy in cruelty.
In my hand, my magic wand burns and crackles.
Should I see her, the show is at her mercy.

Pale blue threads rip decades from my life,
As light and joy wane from my eyes once more.
Through the smoke and mirrors, I am revealed:
A black star, with no sign of being satisfied.

I color the sight of others with gray paint,
As they disturb my work, I offer a faint smile:
But my audience applauds, for destruction is a delight
For those who watch, far away from the event horizon.