Oh he lost his dreams,
lost his being,
his will to seem,
to think, to be,
to feel, to see,
he went down to the bottom of every nug,
little boy, little child,
heating up that,
green ****,
dank skunk filling,
rooms and missing the gaps in his,
little heart,
but coming so close,
getting so numb,
intoxicatingly close to,
an actual feeling approximating,
someone close, someone caring.
Don't go to class. Don't go to school.
Stay in your room smoking.
Invite a few friends,
occasionally, not too often,
must keep appearances,
Must keep appeasing,
As he becomes disheveled,
As he looks for Molly,
Alice and Squiggy,
Hugs his grinder,
like his late mother...
Little boy, little fool,
how young you must be,
not to see the truth.
oh but to be sure,
he was his own little *****.
Till his blood pressure rose,
And the heart attacks came quickly,
He couldn't stop, couldn't stop,
He must have died that day,
Oh, he must still be dreaming,
Still in the clouds,
In a kingdom far away from here,
a Kingdom of one,
solemnly,
named addiction and persecution,
of Self.
