as a broken corpse
shambles its jerky strut

her wet lips smack icesantly
a small bit of froth forms on the corners
nervously she twitters around the room
she never stops her crooked shuffle

like some over grown mutant humming bird
she buzzes from room to room
her diseased feathers fall wetly to the floor

the smoke of her drug
has painted the walls red
her large moist eyes twitch
as they look at me

i see a broken hollow shell
a fire that burns her deep
has started to poke through her skin
a fire that will leave nothing but ash

my mothers veins course with chemical dependancy
a torrential rage removes pain for the price of a soul
small black flecks speed across her eyes
they have started to form the shroud for her funeral

does she see the shroud with its cold fingers?
I smell the stink of death and decay
i must leave, pretenses be damned
my mother is inches from death and I cant watch.

01/26/2006

Author's Note: On a recent trip home I was witness to my mother's deep addiction to meth. A harrowing scene I dont think I will ever forget.

Posted on 01/27/2006
Copyright © 2026 Travis G Finborg