Poetry

Was very confused. 
I was becoming poorer 
everyday. The depletion was complete. 
Polymorphous? Where do I find 
the affinity with saneness? I 
wanted to quit now, 
drawing the faces of dead. 
 
Farce embers, 
in white fire. Climbing on a 
fence for a fatal jump after 
cavorting with drifting icicles 
of blue eyes. Can you sleep- 
walk in full moon? I am 
ecstatic.White death has become my friend!