(content warning) A Doomed Scherzando

[addy]

I love how engaging this was, and how the images were consistently vicious and insistent... as a reader I really got swept up in it.

Haughty eyes
I turn on your nodding ("I turn to your nodding", or maybe "I turn from your nodding"?) , Darling,
my plans for the evening
not yet becoming;
not till you're sleeping. (Is the abundance of "-ing" words intentional? It distracted me a little, but that's your judgment call)
My splintered conscience is only kindling
for the blazing inferno
beginning below.
Senses, intelligence (not sure "Intelligence" is the right word for this)
tingling with promise
of lust -
promises, trust broken, but
nothing of ours, Darling,
was ever enough. (Love how you closed these lines. It's very intriguing)

...............................

My sentence might have been laid
to the Second* -
seduced
too smooth and quick,
the devil's fingers
lips, tongue, dick drew juices:
sweet respite
from angels' tunes
sung constant in my mind.

But my soul was signed away to the Eighth**
by baiting all 'round,
by viciously
taking them down
one at a time
designing, combining ("combining" is serviceable, but kind of a weak term. Not enough oomph)
newer ways
of spinning lies
to wrap them to lips
of spinning ties
to wrap them to tips
my puppets, hopping
to staggered metronomes'
ticking and tocking
in a brilliant scherzando. (I like the cunning in this. And I very much like that you used the repetitive structure of the poem at this point to complement the sense of puppetry and trapped compulsion, for both the victims and the narrator)

I'll tell them all, you know,
that they've been played;
blame the other
for corrupting my nature
as they fight for ego,
their own interests
slightly strained (Do you really mean "slightly" strained, like an inconvenience or annoyance? The wording sounds like its pulling its punches for no reason. To me the last couple of lines are oddly bland)
by disarray created
in their friendly midst.

And one long day (Don't really see the significance of the length of the day, unless you mean to say a day long into the future)
while steeping in shit,
I may wish
I'd listened to the angels. (I like the place where you ended this, the idea of a dry resignation, "maybe", rather than actual guilt. But for some reason though the line is good it left me hanging a little. I guess I just want more LOL )

Again, really liked this. or quibble is I'm not a very big fan of footnotes in poems, unless it's an experimental format and the footnote is meant to be read as part of the poem. For me it's still better to give clues within the poem so the reader can divine the meaning of "Second" and "Eighth" by themselves. Perhaps something like an allusion to Dante's Inferno in the title could work. Just imo. But overall good job with this