Missing arm

Born to live i' the glass,
Enlivens my burnin' past,
Akin to the catastrophe i had,
At the Jean street last summer.

Au contraire 'tis a stone,
Thrown at the art of lost arm.
I believe i was unfortunate,
Alas ! the sculpture's too.

'Twas sui generis i' the old museum.
A hand upfront and a missing one down under,
An outcome ensued through bad blood.
This old man picks out the bones.

 The cancerous rush of false pride,
Fickles human furniture to its core.
I'm addled with these icy folks,
Carved out of cardboard sentiments.

'Crack' ~ The club now says,
Hath a scream on my feets.
The sangria is poisoned ~
I can see some drops on the chalice.

Closer to the rose petals,
The night of cups come to an end.
The falchion falls  off the only hand,
and a' gave me a wry smile.