Paradoxical nature, in a twisting sense
Not elegiac, just randomly mixing drugs
Yes a kind of field junky, no cold veins
Striping reality apart, in a desolated pub
Smoke hour after hour, not losing any
Just another occasion appears any time
Obviously a big, fat, procrastinator
Not obscene, but becoming perverted
Girls scout, bush hiding, stalking type
Poet by choice, manic assassin by nature
A goddamn’ spuned time crushing
Monster mashing, fire engine, screaming
Heavy chain-smoking, nicotine driven machine
Mad, really…
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Submission Name: Self-portrait
