Shards of broken glass littered the lawn;
his shattered childhood laid everywhere.
Jagged bottles seared his head (even his sweat bled),
leaving matted sweet blood in his hair.
Like a tempest he reeled; in the harbor he kneeled
before his guests, stupid high and glad,
who gazed into his wondrous lilac pupils,
so sorry and hurtful and mad.
"Hell, I was stuck just yesterday,"
he roared with awareness and truth.
But like a child he spun, longing for someone
to hold while he moaned for bulimic youth.
Girls kissed while boys talked under the moon;
the saint collapsed in his bed, deterred,
'nd fucked in it, 'nd threw up in it,
"It's all about learning," he slurred.
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