|He swallowed speed to get a thrill,
then listened to the whip-poor-will.
As autumn paves the way for snows,
a capsule—one kiss from a rose.
I asked him to explain the drive;
a want to harm, or to survive.
“A hurricane in my mind,” said he;
“I seek the thrill of ecstasy!”
“I’m keeping my neck warm from sun;
I need not swallow drugs for fun.”
He merely smirked and gave a turn:
“I hope you do not get a burn.”
After he bade backhanded care,
he opined in October air:
“Beneath grey skies I feel the pain,
but my rose lets me live again.”
I did not see him from that day;
I heard that he had passed away.
He swallowed speed to get a thrill;
he died as thin as a dollar bill.
Writer’s Cramp Winner
—kiss from a rose
—hurricane in my mind
—keeping my neck warm
—a dollar bill