_The following poem, written by a dope fiend, is the first of a series
he has contributed to this magazine. Although these poems are morbid in
character, the editor hopes their lesson will serve as warning to all
to “touch not, taste, shoot nor smoke.” This is the author s opening
explanation:_
_I started out wrong when I was a kid,_
_And now my days are blue;_
_Cigarettes, booze, wild women and dope--_
_I’m a wreck at twenty-two._
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