I’m crashing.
I have chills down my spine
As I flash to that night
Where I was soaring
On top of you.

The withdrawals have kicked in
And my mind can’t seem to turn off.
Up
And
Down
Until I have reached
Euphoria.

I keep blaming you.
Why did you give me that hit?
Just enough to keep me as the beggar
On your corner.
Your prime customer.

But it isn’t your fault.

It is me who is addicted,
to boys afflicted.

I was crowded by the beggars

One of them said," Lovers are the melancholic beggars".

It were perhaps too good to preen,
This thing, this much elided stream,
To rest therewith, tremulous ream
Of thoughts forthwith from misery.

Let not the beggar hear my words:
There is no hope in timely dress;
World it cares not for men deferred
From caring press and relatives.
Too much it cares for common things,
A word said soft, need not for pain,
Yet broken in its gleaning thoughts,
Suff’ring not well deserved stains.

These things, I say, they cast a sea
Before dim eyes, make blind men cry,
Rob their sight, ev’n in sight’s drought;
This I say, casts little more t’me.