How I Found The Cure For Overdosing On New York City
Cynicism
Poem by Danny Aponte of P.S 161 in The South Bronx of
America
You got money for hope, mister? How about dope? Got dope?
How about a plane ticket so I can fly to Colorado for dope?
Please, mister, I need the dope. I’m really hurting.
I have terminal happiness in my Wonder Years.
People are dying for hope but I’m fine.
I am my very own dope, 100% pure.
I am so very high in the clouds
I have music in my veins.
I’m down to Earth.
More or less…
LOL
Life sucks wonderfully
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