|
Too late for not too lates
by Dorian BlackHer weapon of choice has always been the needle,
regardless of futile heroic attempts.
Slammed in a corner,
who knew that her noose
hung so close to the floor?
I wonder if through her narcotic intravenous drip
she was ever able to pick her poison for the night.
Whether is was pills, a pipe, or methamphetamine thrills,
The dosage remained the same. As did the bill.
No one left to mourn her relationship with methadone,
her attention turned toward me.
Black tar pupils fixated, and the lingering smell
of donuts burning in a plastic oven
radiated from her mouth.
"You know that mommy loves you baby.
I wouldn't ever leave you behind."
A Shakespearean riddle that took
more than one ass whooping to understand.
I prayed that a funeral would come
and take her away from the nightmare
that she made all too lucid for me.
"It's not too late", I thought but sooner rather than later
it was followed by, " When your casket
could be my saving grace." 11/26/2011 Posted on 11/26/2011
Copyright © 2025 Dorian Black
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 11/27/11 at 09:50 PM ...kick-ass hurt, we crave what we can't ask for, still changes-NOT the need. |
| Posted by Kristine Briese on 12/30/11 at 05:43 PM Gut-wrenching and heart-wrenching, both...this is just stunning. |
| Posted by Tony Whitaker on 01/01/12 at 09:27 AM As someone who knew so many in my youth where "The Needle and the Damage Done" was won so many times my death, this poem made me shiver and must go into my favorites for that feeling along. A cold, cutting piece Dorian |
|
