They think of him as a little mad
consistency not a thing to be had
Feels not like red blood that flows in his veins
just a liquid concerto to capture his gains
An artful John Doe with eccentric guile
a clouded up basis for that ruthless smile
Moving around without wing, without wheel
some pertaining to him as a quick, gracious steel
Staring across the same crowded-out room
time for his business and bite to resume
Cements himself firm in the dimly lit corner
a bonafide nightly, morality mourner
Kisses the girls, the boys even better
posting himself like a brutal chain letter
Soon to engulf in narcotics and sweat,
a foul morning headache's as good as it gets
Mother and nature in pair didn't care
Father's hand, like his pride, simply never was there
Blessed this only child's rife ballyhoo
atonement for birth, but just who's fooling who?
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