The vortex of addiction is out of square

there are imaginary catchwords everywhere

The ego-dolls reap the meadows of megalomania

and we crave the spotlight



An ephemeral prostitute in the centre of attention

my deserted space needs another case of intervention

celebrity is my speciality

glamorised in fashion I am the mannequin to be



Oh, sweet seventeen...her unblemished face

clad in the tint of juvenile flesh

seven dead orchids

lay trampled and beguiled

like the lust that died

She sits astride



The pictures my crayons painted

xeroxed and airbrushed to fit

admiration disguised in trivial pursuits

animated to death...



The vortex of addiction is out of square

there are imaginary catchwords everywhere

The ego-dolls reap the meadows of megalomania

and we crave the spotlight...