Junkie

The alcohol and opiates, combined, can cause one's lungs
To cease to work, at which point one will die. The evidence
Is all around. A little child's mommy lies, balled up, inside
The powder room. She'll never say again she loves the boy
Who turns and runs away. A daddy falls inside a stall,
His needle still stuck in his arm, and I, less willing to be
Sleazy, loll upon a chair a million miles from what once
Seemed real, another junkie, popping pills, another
Desperado all too eager to erase his pain. If life must be
As if it's been, if pain accompanies each day, I think
That I don't mind succumbing to the siren sound of alcohol,
Combined with opiates, and I won't fear the thought of dying,
Not when living doesn't offer anything worth cherishing
To me.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 87 times
Written on 2018-07-28 at 02:50

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