He moves like the wind, fast and untamed, A spark in his eyes, a soul unchained. Talking in riddles, laughing too loud, Dancing on sidewalks, drawing a crowd. One minute he's here, the next he's gone, Scaling the ball park at the crack of dawn. No sleep, no rest, just chaos and speed, Fueled by a force that nobody needs. Living in his car, wild and free, Arguing with people he cannot be. Boasting energy, just for the thrill, Sucking it back like he can't be killed. His logic is twisted, his plans make no sense, Somehow, he always seems more dence. He barters with items he found on the street, A broken TV, two shoes with one feet. Crackhead energy—raw and unchained, A hurricane spinning, a mind unrestrained. He thrives in the chaos, then lives for the rush, But damn, does he ever leave us all saying, "What the fuck?"