Ode to W. S. Burroughs

To William S. Burroughs and his last journal-entry which to me is worth as much as one of those days, empty and rotten due to 'the most natural painkiller':

„Love? What is it? Most natural painkiller what there is. LOVE.“

Most Natural Paininflicter 

You
The Heartripper
I salute you
while salty confessions
run down my red scratched cheeks

You
I was calling You
Your name like the Saviour's on my lips
I knew You'd answer
at first
Only to run away
when recognition would finally dawn upon Me
Or was it actually coming onto You?

You
Maskwearer
You
Selfdenier
Allowing Yourself to drown in amber liquid
A Mosquito in a yellow stone
Liquids swirling around
Frozen to a picture of misery for eternity
But still stinging and sharp
Your weapon of ignorance
Against the world outside of Your prison

I
Caught up in the same old picture
Frame's the same,
only the colours have changed
Walking down some empty streets
Smoking and spitting
Until all Your poison
Is nothing
But an invisible trace
Left behind Me
And ahead of Me
Always guiding Me...