Bad boy.
He’s killing himself reaching for the stars.
Boiling datura on the top of the stove.
Look how strong.
It’s a dare, inpressing friends, being a man,
The chaff of the crop,
To spend three days not knowing what’s real,
Or where you are, or what you feel.
It didn’t impress the cops
Who picked him up off the street
In Grey Lynn.
Then drove him home in their car.
But it impressed his girl enough to
Call it quits.
It was the end.
He swore to himself not to take it again.
Does he know what’s real now?
Managing mind one illusion at a time?
Nirvana – the final blowing out.
It’s so hard in the half light to know
That everything‘s a nightmare.
Please don’t make it so.
This dream’s the one, the only real thing.
Until it’s torn away clutching its claws
Around his heart, tearing everything.
But now he knows he’s stoned
Without hooch or ecstacy or coke.
He’s going home,
All sins atoned – free.

Image by Radspunk [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC BY-SA 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)], from Wikimedia Commons