Alone in the Park (only poem with metrical sense)

In the evening, passers by
Are floating clouds beneath the sky
Stealing glances, covetous, sly
Oft I wonder if I should try.
Shall I go in for the kill?
Id and Ego, bickering still.
Voices, voices, in the head,
Eyes that whisper things unsaid.
Thoughts that show me what they must;
A metallic heart that gathers rust.

The latter won, I sadly grinned
At pages blowing in the wind.
A tasteless cup of pious rage
With each sip I surely age.