ORGANIC smoke obscures him from reality.
It takes him to a place
where the genuine seems to have missed
the essence of truth.
By means of needles and spoons
he feeds on mediocrity
of what was supposed to have been bliss.
He bleeds until a pool of euphoria is acquired.
His dilated pupils seek what cannot be sought,
such as ten multicolored arcs in the sky.
Tonight he dies, but he dies happy.
And tomorrow, once more,
he will rise up to see the authenticity
of the world he sincerely leaves.
