A contemporaneous photo from the era in question
I used to keep folded print outs of poems I had written in my back pocket, so I could accidentally discover them while talking to women at parties. This was before the proper internet and everything was harder then. The idea was bad and the poems were worse, but I was handsome so women slept with me in spite of it. I learned the wrong lesson from this. I was a late bloomer with terrible instincts so I attributed my success to my newly discovered art form. My personality was intense, or rather, I was intense in lieu of having a personality, and my writing reflected this.
A broken thought just trundled by
A twisted thing that once was mine
And now it’s cast adrift within my madness