And mud walks on. We smear our hands to feel. Isn’t it nice to know. He tilts the bottle one more time until empty. When I tell an addict they’ll be OK they say, “I know.” We walk toward death with an even pace. I ask, “Does it bother you much?”
He always said he wanted to try everything once
and as far as I could see he was nearly there
Only thing is this time it got the better of him
He’s just out of jail and homeless again
lied about the sober house, lied about gaining weight.
Unfortunately using again too. That pisses me off
But it doesn’t matter. I can be as mad as I want
along with the rest of the people who care about him
He’ll die this way. And When he’s gone I’ll still love him.
How long will the state level programs continue to push
them away, waiting lists are long, don’t you know.
I’m sure he knew, when he was ushered out the door already
feeling failure exploding trough his veins. How many more
will stop breathing while high in a heroin dealers ‘home’
‘died of complications’ no charges
No fucking charges. I won’t get into that memory.
My home town might be a piss-ant to the powers that be
But it’s my home town and I love it. Loved it so much
I left its destruction behind. Had too. Not everyone can do that.
Some follow the leader and think trying everything once is a good idea
because they never thought it through. And one by one they go, they go.
Thank you, though. It’s been nice knowing I’m not dead. See the flower over there? He motioned for us to look. We saw the flower over there. See how that flower opens? It’s opening from the Sun. It’s not dead either. He was laying in his bed. He wasn’t alive anymore. Not really. He still had his clothes on. He wasn’t under any covers. But the needle was in his arm. He’d left it there. We think he forgot to take it out. We looked at the flower in the vase. It had been clipped a few days earlier.