Murdering Altruism

Walking the streets of Boston
good will hunting
he begs for a soul to save.

He’s an addict.

Intravenously feeding
off intrinsic
rewards.

In twilight hours
as the glory fades,
his starvation strikes.

The hunger
for self gratification
relieved
via charity balls and dinners.

He smells it whilst straightening
his tie, sniffing out a crisis
like blood desired.

He runs with resolution,
excited by the promise
of his methadrone.

High.  Drunk on
his own selflessness.
He stands in euphoria.

Murdering altruism.