Heroin Poem by Ethan Moyer

Born to wander
Born to suffocate
Born to be tortured
Born to be born
Borned, scorned and un-learned
Leaned on by the young age
And learned to die for the sake
Of expression and sacrifice
Suffice, for celestial black angels
Beethoven is choking and turning in
His grave.
Mad tea parties with Orwell,
In the vodka streams and gin
Waterfalls,
Insomnia dreams
Screams
Born to be burned,
Madness behind the glasses.
Cities of LSD,
Cities of enterprise,
Metro-politicia,
Beaches of California,
Slim girls,
Slim to wonder and dream...
Except one.
Long blonde hair,
Sapphire eyes,
Rosy wine glass,
Drunk and wonderful,
High walker,
Higher in the midnight city.
The carnival of her dreams,
Is in my head.
Ancient sadistic re-arrangers
In the willows, In the
Painting of the beat.
Beating faster,
Burning.
I love her.
She’s a stranger.
A catcher in the straightaway dire.
She’s perfect.