Poem may: not be finished/change *

Like a teenage boy.
Practically A prepubescent adolescent
out to late, with limited restraint
trying to cop a feel,
attempting to achieve an unreal ideal.

Im not sure if ill ever succeed and complete my masterpiece
before it is lost to the terra-cotta floor
like my mind is lost to amphetamine with the last of my *** appeal,
seldom seen.
Just a mandala memento of strange LSD daydream
From back in Hawaii when I was at eighteen.

In actuality
I am a mer twenty and stressed by the precent
attempting to be more than an empty brunette beauty
Bewildered by his words and left splintered.
In a dark world, void of a vice in paradise.
Wanderer, wanderer, you’re lost evermore.
Far to awkward to adore.

I'm all around 5'7 and 98 to 105 lb on a good day.
Sounds great if you wanna be castaway
By people that don't understand first hand
And demanded you to eat to gain some meat.

Though the ladies, who aren't jealous of my boney pelvis,
Say I'm paragon in every which way, a totally dime.
But to the fellas I'm hella undeveloped.
A kyphotic crescent moon that keeps getting slimmer.
But the truth is they wouldn't have fulfilled her either.


Because I am the luciferous prosperity of celtic kings.
An authentic relict of a noble bloodline
Twinkling, as lore to an all distant past.
a la belle étoile
'Under the beautiful star'; in the open air at night.
An eclectic aesthetic
Living in perpetual summer sublime,
Who could have dreamt, there was such a thing.