Addict

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His glassy eyes stare up at God,

Broken bottle at his feet.

Limp fingers rest

Inches from orange plastic,

Smoke trails from a white roll.

Crinkled slips

Litter the floor.

Numbers, symbols, prices, prescriptions,

Near an empty wallet.

Unread texts,

Unheard messages.

Please answer.

Stop.

We Love You.

Too late.

Now

His angel mourns from above,

The Grim Reaper steps through the door,

And

The devil laughs in the shadows.

– kh.

© December 2015 | Placer County, California


#TooManyMonthsTooLate I’m sorry! This is more obscure than the others, but probably fitting in this day and age…

SEVEN DEADLY SINS POETRY SERIES:

Envy | Gluttony | Greed | Lust | Pride | Sloth | Wrath