Poetry / The Punk Rocker who planned out his life

There once was a boy, who looked like a toy.
He was more of a tool.
He started to smoke, had spikes that poked
attached to his clothes.
“It represents everything I stand for!” he claimed

He knew what he knew, blurted it out and told you.
Performance art joke?

Apparently ants are a rip off…

He went to the institute of art
He was going to be a photographer
Forever given to the cause
A starving artist on food stamps.
Had a schedule till forty five.

His house was clean while he was neurotic.

This boy was hardly living in a dream,
he asked to be buried dressed to the nines,
like a fuckin’ ‘77.

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