Autobiography

He was the drug of his own infections.
Alcohol to his own intoxication.
He was the flavourless shot of cola straight to the vein.
The antidote,
Anecdote of his own brain.

He was the rightful owner of the dusty corner.
Symptoms of his own cancer.
He was the red light shining through the borderline traffic.
The petrichor,
Afterglow of his own trick.

He was the sun to his own moon.
Night to his morning.
Fever to his own health.
He was his own God.
The perfect creator of his 1994 beating heart.